Nevermore
by NightWolfMoon
Summary: The year is 2024. Charlie has been missing for two years, and the Duncans are about to be pulled into a life they never could have imagined. They will have to learn quickly where it is they stand and how to stand together and conquer this nightmare.
1. Rosemary and Pansies

_**Warnings: violence, language, etc. Also, it may seem pretty slow-moving at times; I'll go ahead and be upfront about that. There is action, but you'll have to stick with it.**_

_**Genres: adventure/suspense/hurt-comfort/mild tragedy/fantasy **_

_**Something else: I first began writing this in 2010, about a week or so before the episode where Spencer cheated on Teddy. I had already planned a big role for Spencer, and I wasn't changing it, so he's staying. He never cheated on Teddy - how they broke up will be said later on. Okay then, I hope everyone enjoys this. :):):)**_

_**Whoops, one last note: Killing Waters is a TV show PJ thinks about later in this chapter, and I took the idea of the show from a project I did with my classmate - not sure if he'll like me putting his name on the internet, so I won't. We wrote up a script for the first episode, and the poster described is based off of one I created for the project. (Which I know longer have, my teacher does. So if anyone happens to care to see it, which I doubt, sorry.)**_

**_Begin Part I: Nevermore_**

"_Brothers and sisters are as close as hands and feet." - Vietnamese proverb_

_Eighty-three… Eighty-four… Eighty-five…_

Without blinking, Teddy could only count the drops that slid down the glass of her window, chapped lips parted slightly. Her breathing was minimal and shaky, and there was a slight tremor to her hands, which held tightly onto the letter that had arrived only minutes before. Tears stained the parchment, blurring the ink of a couple of words. Just as the others, the letter had appeared on Teddy's desk in an envelope with her name written in beautiful cursive that looked as if the writer had taken great time and care into drawing the contour of each character. On the back of the envelope was a silver wax seal, marked by a rose. The letters were hand-written in print, all with the same ending: _Good luck, Teddy._

"Oh, Charlie…"

Another tear slid down Teddy's flushed, damp cheek, and she finally blinked as she looked down at the paper again. It was her handwriting. There was never any doubt about it. This was letter number thirteen. It tore a hole through Teddy's heart; this broken heart had long-given up on trying to patch up the damage each letter gave. They were all taped to pages in a sketchbook Teddy had bought not long after receiving the third letter, and under each letter was the date on which it had arrived. On a low volume in a background was "Someday" by Celtic Woman, the music swimming through the air that had become stagnant due to the heavy emotions falling away from the now-numb woman.

It was not exactly a song Teddy would have listened to on her own in the past, but she had somewhat gotten into the group because of Scarlett, a friend she had met at the University of Colorado in Denver. Now she had three of the CDs, and one of them was on repeat on her iPod, the songs helping to soothe her even if it was only slightly. She hummed along, stuttering slightly as she coughed before gasping down breath to fill her lungs and lessen the ache in her chest. Her throat felt raw, and she quit humming as she got up and staggered towards her desk to retrieve the sketchbook, the wooden floor squeaking under her weight in some places.

The apartment was large, with four rooms. Three were occupied by the members of the Mayr family, and Teddy stayed in the fourth, glad that she did not have to share with the nine-year-old, Lena. To escape her problems, Teddy had signed up to become an au pair before she became too old to do so. She normally kept herself busy with cleaning, cooking, or taking care of the children. However, today was her day off, and Frau Mayr usually liked to cook on Sundays. Teddy could not keep herself busy to take her mind off of the letter this time. She didn't have energy to go to one of the clubs with her friends and dance. There was nothing to do but sit in her room and think. She had thought about going shopping. She had done well with saving up the money she made—forty-three euros a week.

_Charlie_.

The two sisters used to enjoy shopping for clothes together. Charlie had said that Teddy had great taste. Ivy would sometimes tag along if she was in Denver. After going to a two-year community college in their hometown, she had moved to New York to go to design school. Teddy had decided to go into music after returning to Denver from Peru. She got a music scholarship for the first two years, but later majored in international studies with a history minor. She also took courses to learn two different languages: German and Italian. She would also study literature from Germany, Austria, and Italy, some of her favorite books going into her suitcase when she packed for Vienna. She was also still studying her French, but she was not doing so well with that language speech-wise and had gotten much more interested in the other two languages during college.

Charlie had started taking French in sixth grade as well as Spanish, doing much better than Teddy had done.

"When we tour Europe, we'll be the best team ever," Charlie had said as she studied for her Spanish test while having a video chat with Teddy. The two sisters were always close, and Charlie kept all the video journals Teddy had made for her on her laptop, and Teddy even had a few videos Charlie had made for her.

"Where are you Charlie?" Teddy asked herself as she taped the letter to the next empty page in the sketchbook along with the envelope.

In all of the letters, Charlie never revealed where she was. She would drop small hints, but Teddy was sure that by the time she guessed correctly, Charlie would be somewhere else. In her first letter, Charlie even admitted that she moved around often. In that letter, Teddy was able to guess that Charlie was in St. Petersburg. Other letters Teddy had guessed were from London, Hong Kong, and Venice.

Even when Teddy had figured out the location, there was still one major mystery: How did she send it and how did it get here? Teddy started getting the letters several weeks after getting settled into the apartment. They always appeared on the exact same place on the desk with no stamp or return address. They arrived as if by magic. It seemed like the only explanation that sounded less creepy than the idea of someone breaking into the apartment just to deliver the letter. They never arrived at regular intervals, of course. There was no pattern, the only constants being the paper, seal, and writing style.

The song changed to "Siuil A Run" and carried itself through the air beautifully, caressing Teddy's ears. Sinking into the wooden chair before the desk, Teddy hugged the sketchbook as she began to stare at the wall, trying to focus on the song. After it ended and switched to another, Teddy closed her eyes and placed the hardcover sketchbook next to her laptop, the pink, raised letters, which spelled out her name, watching her as she turned on her laptop and logged into her e-mail.

In Teddy's inbox were three new messages: one from Ivy, one from Scarlett, and one from PJ. Teddy opened the one from PJ first. He still lived in Denver and worked at the art school teaching guitar (it was classical guitar mostly but still guitar). It was really cool that he was able to get the job, and Teddy was very happy for him. He had an apartment not too far from the school, and he was a big help during the investigation when Charlie went missing. Teddy had so desperately wanted to tell him about the letters, but the first lines of the first one always kept her from doing so.

_I am so sorry for just taking off like I did, but please, please, __please__ don't tell Mom, Dad, PJ, Gabe, or __anyone__. Please, Teddy? This needs to stay between you and me. Actually, it's a risk just telling __you__, but if I didn't tell __someone__, I was going to explode. Please keep this a secret. I don't want everyone to worry, but it's safer this way._

Safer how? Teddy didn't understand, and she hadn't even been sure if it was really Charlie at first. It could have just been someone trying to pull a prank, but there were things mentioned in the letter that only Charlie would know. It _had_ to be her.

She was alive!

She had gone away willingly…

Teddy still wasn't sure if she should be relieved at that or not.

With a small sigh, Teddy looked at PJ's e-mail and began reading, a smile touching her lips as she did so. Student or teacher, PJ had always looked forward to summer vacation, which should start in a little under a month. He had written some new songs, and he and Emmett were going to get together with Tori to play. Tori had been Emmett's wife for five years now and sang very well. She taught vocals at the Denver School of the Arts, while Emmett worked as a police officer—a career Teddy never would have pictured for him.

"No way." Teddy smiled wider, rereading the sentence.

PJ was engaged! He and Jennifer (a physical therapist) had been dating for three years now, and he had finally popped the question. The date would either be in early or mid-September. They were going to have an outdoor wedding and wanted to have it while the leaves were beginning to change colors—autumn was Jennifer's favorite season. PJ said that they were still planning the details, but both of them wanted a big wedding at sunset, and PJ said he wanted the layers of the cake to be chocolate, vanilla, and more chocolate.

_He's still PJ_, Teddy mused.

She sent him her congratulations and promised to stay in town long enough to go to the wedding. She had been planning on also going to Rome for four weeks to attend a school for Italian Language and Culture studies, though she still debated with herself on the idea. Teddy still studied her Italian while in Vienna, but there was no real substitute for going to the country and learning there. She learned that during her stay in Austria.

Of course, Vienna held a certain dialect among the citizens that not even other Austrians really understood, which had put Teddy (who had been studying _Hochdeutsch_) through a loop as soon as she had stepped off of the plane. She was able to understand it much better than before, and she usually joked that now she can speak three languages. Her mind was full with just as much German as it was with English, and she rarely had to ask her friends to repeat themselves when they switched back into Weanarisch.

Eyes flickering back at the sketchbook, Teddy felt a twinge of guilt for not telling PJ about her letters. What could possibly happen if her family knew? Why would Charlie not _want_ them to know? Did she not know how much her mysterious absence distressed them? Their mom had quit work, her time consumed with searching for her youngest daughter. Teddy had gone back home to keep her and Dad company, sometimes hearing crying at night. It twisted Teddy's heart, and she had almost regretted signing up to become an au pair. She had made PJ promise to visit them at _least_ every weekend. It hadn't been hard to get him to make that promise—PJ was just as worried as Teddy was. Teddy would have also asked Gabe, but he had been working hard at college with criminal justice as his major. It took up a large chunk of his time.

Wiping her reddened eyes with one of her billowy sleeves, Teddy read and replied to Ivy's e-mail, which mostly just talked about how much fun she was having in New York. Teddy smiled upon reading that Ivy had even gone to a Broadway show with her boyfriend, Michael.

There was nothing very new in Ivy's life. She was still designing and trying to get people to buy her clothes. She still remained optimistic that she would make it big, but, in the meantime, she also worked as a waitress to pay for her apartment and groceries. Teddy had been skeptical about Ivy working a job where she had to smile at a customer no matter how annoying, and she was glad she hadn't made a bet on how long Ivy would last—she would have lost already.

Opening Scarlett's e-mail, Teddy's eyes flickered back to book holding Charlie's letters, but she just looked back at the e-mail, deciding not to figure out where Charlie was this time. Why bother? It wasn't like Teddy could go get her or even be sure if she was there _still_. For all Teddy knew, Charlie had those delivered (or however they arrived) as soon as she was ready to leave for her next "safe house." It drove Teddy crazy spending hours on end with a pen, some paper, and the letter with a hidden message.

Ignoring the letters, Teddy read Scarlett's e-mail, which was a paragraph on how she was enjoying her backpacking trip with her older sister, Sierra. She didn't say much except that it was exciting, though she sometimes missed the basic stuff like electricity she had normally taken for granted. Teddy allowed a slight laugh as she thought about her friend, who had moved to Denver from Athens, Georgia. She majored in international studies along with Teddy, which was how they met, and Scarlett had been learning Italian as well. However, instead of German and French, she had been learning Icelandic. There wasn't a class on Icelandic, though; Scarlett studied it on her own with some dictionaries, flashcards, and a computer program. She said she just really liked the language.

"My dad's side of the family had come from Iceland. Learning the language is a nice way to learn my heritage," she had said with her southern drawl that made her sound as if she had come out of _Gone with the Wind_. It didn't help that her name was Scarlett. She had gotten plenty of jokes during her first few months in Denver. They only stopped when they realized Scarlett had a temper and had been taking kickboxing since she was ten. Some had needed to learn the hard way.

Scarlett had even taught a few moves to Teddy and Charlie when she came over one weekend. Charlie had really gotten into it, but it wasn't really Teddy's thing. Although, she did enjoy learning a few moves so she'd be able to protect herself. It could come into some use later on.

Smiling, Teddy leaned back as she tapped her index finger to the beat of her favorite song, singing the few lines she knew well enough to not mess up the language. She and Scarlett had tried to study Irish Gaelic together, but the pronunciations were tough when they read the words off of the page. It wasn't like English in first grade when the teacher just told them to sound it out. Eventually, they gave up, only learning ten words between the two of them.

In her reply, Teddy said she was glad that Scarlett was having a great time, and she said she was having fun in Austria. She gave Scarlett a short list of things she'd been doing, only skimming over the cleaning and cooking parts. After hitting **send**, Teddy went back to her bed, deciding to sleep until dinner was ready. As always, her mind filled with images from the past.

Vaguely, she heard Scarlett's voice. "Everyone leaves an impression in the world, whether physical or in memory. It's in these memories that people feel sorry when the person is gone. This is because they keep those memories in the past, lingering within them. To escape the sorrow, they have to take up these memories and bring it to the future, which is where the past works and brings the progress it is meant to. This is where memories belong, and how they are meant to be used—to learn from and uphold, not wandering aimlessly within them with no mind or purpose. Is that how you want that person's legacy to go on?"

Teddy knew that Scarlett was right (she liked to bring up wise words spoken by various people), but Teddy was not ready to move on. That would mean admitting that Charlie was gone. Teddy wasn't ready to admit that. The letters (more or less) proved that Charlie was alive. Teddy could feel it. She wasn't gone, and Teddy was going to make sure she figured out what was going on with her little sister.

**XXX**

"Bye, Mr. Duncan!" There was a mirthful melody to Renee's voice as she waved, her wide smile making her freckles more noticeable. Clutched in her free hand was the handle of her guitar case.

"Have a good afternoon, Renee, and keep practicing." PJ smiled as the red-haired fifteen-year-old nodded and caught up with her friends. He bid goodbyes to his students as he ran a hand through his hair and searched his desk.

On the floor was his black messenger bag, filled with a binder, his laptop, and an organization folder stuffed with syllabuses and various papers in no particular order. His desk was much worse, loose papers covering the top with pens, whiteout, and a lamp to keep them company. Sticky notes also ran along the sides and edges, holding reminders from yesterday back to September. A few of the other teachers had said that a messy desk was a sign of genius, but PJ had only laughed and said that then he should have an IQ of 180 and be making over one-million dollars a month.

The dance teacher (Olive Callan), however, was completely OCD and could barely stand to be in PJ's classroom without tidying something up. She had once tried to help him keep things in order with a planner and labels, but PJ was more comfortable in his clutter, even if it _did_ take him twenty minutes to find his keys sometimes. There was a method to this madness (usually), and he often had to let Olive know when she was piling the loose papers on his desk out of reflex. They got along, and PJ respected the talented, though strict, piano teacher who, too, taught Renee and a few of his other students.

Opening one of the drawers, PJ knocked down three sticky notes that had been barely attached to the edge above the drawer. They fell to the ground like leaves in the fall, and PJ realized that two were from October, and one was from February. He decided to pick them up tomorrow morning as he slammed the drawer shut, catching a glimpse of one of the keys under a stack of song sheets. He smiled and took up the keys, thinking that maybe he _should_ try cleaning up a little—at least before summer vacation. As he thought, he barely noticed Tori appearing in the door frame.

"What'd you lose this time?" When she spoke, there was a certain resonance to her voice PJ could only describe as "gravelly". She was pretty soft-spoken, her words more like sighs that matched her dark brown eyes that seemed to be perpetually distant, as if she were in a reality all her own and only seeing the shadows of the world around her. The only make-up she wore was red-brown lipstick and a bit of blush, and her curls were short and wild, caressing her cherubic face and whispering against her umber neck. On first impression, no one would ever guess that she had a big singing voice that would have made the judges on _American Idol_ cry and stare at her in awe.

"Keys." PJ held up the ring of six keys as he took up his messenger bag and made his way towards Emmett's wife, who was like a sister to him.

Tori's flat nose wrinkled slightly as her plump lips turned up in a smirk. "Of course. You wouldn't want a repeat of last spring, now would you?"

PJ laughed as he locked the door behind him, walking alongside Tori as they strolled down that nearly empty hallway. "Mr. Jacobs needed help, and Liam was one of my best students. How was I supposed to know he'd get distracted by some girl and lock my keys in the room?"

"It is always the geniuses with the scattered brains," Tori said, opening the door for PJ. She nodded when PJ thanked her, and, as they went to their cars, Tori informed, "I won't be able to sing for you and Emmett for practice this weekend. I've already told Emmett, but I'm not sure if he remembered to tell you."

"Oh, he remembered," PJ chortled, the sun glaring at him from the sky; no wind blew to ease the heat. "Unfortunately, he remembered as soon as he got home from his shift." He raised his eyebrows, and Tori gave a tight-lipped smile. They both knew that ever since Emmett had gotten switched to the swing shift, his schedule had been a little off. He seemed to think that if he was awake, then everyone else must be too. PJ hoped this would change as Emmett got used to working at that time.

"I wish they kept him in day shift," Tori said with a humorless chuckle. "Well, say 'hi' to Jen for me."

"Will do. Bye." PJ went to his 2021 Friction and punched in the code on the door to unlock it. The lights blinked after he punched in the fifth number in the sequence, and he got in and threw his bag into the passenger seat. He then stuck the key into the ignition behind the gear shift to his right between the seats, and the car purred to life, quickly followed by his music.

In the dock was his iPod, and, as he drove towards his parents' house, his playlist of favorite songs in high school started with CAKE's "Shadow Stabbing". Five songs played as PJ drove towards his parents' house, and "Paranoid Android" by Radiohead was halfway done when he parked at the curb and cut the engine.

Smiling, PJ went to the door and unlocked it with one of the keys on the ring. The lights were out, meaning that no one was home yet.

"Hello?" PJ gave a call just to be sure as he turned on the lights in the den.

When no one answered, he stuffed the keys into his pocket and went up the stairs. His and Gabe's old room had been converted into a sort of office/workout room. One side held a large desk with a four-year-old computer and decade-old monitor along with folders, binders, and organizers filled with information about Bob's and Amy's five rental houses and the families. Three of the rental houses were in Denver, while two were in Aurora. PJ's mom had decided that they needed to rent out houses to help their finances and retirement funds, and they had actually been doing well, thanks to Rodney, Mrs. Dabney's son. He had moved back to Denver several years ago and was an accountant. He was happy to help Bob and Amy, which made PJ glad. It wasn't like _he_ could help, seeing as his math skills tended to be equal to that of a chimpanzee.

The other side of the room where Gabe's bed had been held an elliptical machine as well as an exercise ball and seven medicine balls of various weights. The rest of the equipment was in the closet, and PJ nearly laughed upon thinking of how his mom had thought that by working out in front of her husband, she could inspire him to start exercising too. Instead, however, watching her work out only made him hungry; the result was always Bob just going down to get some food. Amy had also started working out in the house due to some incidents that had made PJ and his siblings laugh. Their mom had gotten kicked out of every gym within a twenty-mile radius, and each story was a golden memory shared when they all got together.

Across the hall was a room, the door closed, as if trying to seal in the ever-slippery time. It was like trying to catch smoke, but PJ could understand why his parents didn't like to go into her room, even to clean it of the accumulating dust that dignified time passing by no matter what any of them tried to do to stop it. The door was white with a couple of dents near the bottom from a golfing accident back when it had been Teddy's room. (What? His mom had told him to wake Teddy up. She had never specified _how_.)

There was only a single chalkboard about four-and-a-half feet tall and three feet wide marking the door, covered in words and pictures in multi-colored chalk. There was a Japanese animation drawing done by Jasmine. There was a monster's forearm with bone sticking out where the elbow should be by Mason. There was a short exert from a story by Laura. There were some lame jokes by Derrick. There was a dark poem by Tammi. There was a humorous haiku by Cory, and, in the center of it all, in swirling, yellow letters was **Charlie M. Duncan: Do Not Disturb**.

It almost felt as if a shock had travelled up PJ's arm as he touched the golden door knob, as if warning him against breaking the spell placed upon the closed door. He paused, blue eyes shimmering as his mouth remained a straight line. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but he looked up again upon realizing he hadn't been breathing.

After taking a deep breath, PJ threw the door open and broke the spell. The door hit the wall with a low **thump**, but everything looked just as it had been left for the past two years. The walls were creamy-gold, the made bed was covered in white sheets and a white comforter with a gold-brown afghan blanket at the foot of the bed. The nightstand held a reading lamp and _Spoiled_, the bookmark not far from the end. The dresser held a vanity with make-up set up in perfect order (except for the fine layer of dust), a small stack of memo pads off to one corner, five pens of alternating colors of red and black, and two mechanical pencils.

Gingerly, PJ picked up the first memo pad. On the wall to his right was the large dry-erase board calendar; the red, black, blue, and green letters still looked fresh as if they had been written just the day before. The pink memo pad in PJ's left hand was labeled "School Observations 7 Book 1" and held various statements and quotes Charlie had overheard around school. Black ink was used for students, while red ink had been used to write about what Charlie had observed from the teachers and administrators. It was almost full, ending with a quote from a teacher named Mrs. Hale: "THEY'RE ALL IDIOTS!"

Looking back up, PJ saw that Mrs. Hale sometimes screamed in the hallway when she was aggravated or stressed. PJ scanned over Charlie's writing, his eyes scanning over her overly-loopy cursive: _Mrs. Hale hates how the administration is right now. She's been teaching literature for the senior high part of my school for about five years now, and many people say she's crazy but lots of fun. Mrs. Hale (according to Cory's older sister, Tanya) can't stand the "prevailing ignorance" much of our society and the school administration seems to be supporting._

With a smirk, PJ realized that he may have actually listened in class if he had ever had a teacher like Mrs. Hale. The smile dropped upon realizing that Charlie would have _loved_ having her as a teacher. Charlie had often complained about "stupid people who have the memory of a goldfish and the attention span of a squirrel". Of course, this was a statement she often heard when going to Tammi's house, but Charlie was a smart kid who didn't spout out others' words without knowing what she was saying or believing in the meaning. She wanted knowledge above all else, living on facts and varying opinions. She was passionate in her beliefs but would step aside and think for a bit if someone else made valid points against those beliefs—usually, it was so she wouldn't say something stupid out of anger, but PJ found it to be a wonderful trait.

PJ made sure to set the memo pad back onto the stack exactly as it had been before, and he then went over to the closet. The double doors were on the adjacent wall, a large poster marking each door. The one on the right was an anime poster Jasmine had given her a few years back, depicting various characters from many shows and mangas. The poster on the right was just for the show _Killing Waters_, which had started airing in 2012 and ended after the seventh season in 2018.

The poster was dark with a man in a fedora cast in shadow. The only splash of color was red, reading _Don't Blink… Killing Waters Fridays 8/7c_. PJ had loved the show, and he had actually been the one to give this poster to Charlie, but he hadn't known she had put it up where she'd see it while falling asleep. With the calming color and obsessive neatness, it wasn't easy to see that Charlie was a huge fan of thrillers, mysteries, and horrors.

With a metallic sound that bordered along a **clang** and a **pop**, the closet doors opened, revealing neglected clothes, five piles of books shoved against the back wall, and Happy-Happy Horse in a small bed made of scarves, hats, gloves, and mittens. The "bed" was stuffed into the corner where the two floor-length dresses would mostly hide the fourteen-year-old toy with a ratty mane and tail and coat so worn, it was practically threadbare. PJ carefully knelt down and reached for the brown horse with glassy black eyes that made it look like it was about to cry. The horse no longer sang its annoying song, which only made PJ give a sad smile as he brought the horse to the twin-sized bed that was across from the three shelves screwed into the wall. Facing the bed were books and a couple of pictures in handmade frames, and PJ placed Happy-Happy Horse on the bed to where it could look at the shelves.

It seemed like almost an hour that PJ was staring at the novels, reading out the titles in his head: _Insomnia, Cell, Carrie, _and_ The Shining_ by Stephen King; _Where Darkness Treads, The Amulet, _and_ Beads of Blood _by Carroll Dean; _Angeldust_ and _Dr. Death _by Oliver Winchester; _Death in Cold Type_ by C.C. Benison…

"PJ?" A door followed Bob's call from below, and PJ jumped, jarred away from his thoughts. "I saw your car out front. You forgot to lock it again, by the way. When are you going to learn to lock the doors? When someone steals it?"

"Sorry!" PJ quickly went to shut the closet doors.

"Don't be sorry to me," his dad shouted up. It sounded like he was heading towards the kitchen. "It's no skin of my nose if someone steals _your_ car."

As his heart finally began to settle down, PJ left the room, only giving it one last sweep before closing the door and recasting the spell. "Yeah, Dad…"

His voice hadn't been loud enough to hear, but PJ could only think about Charlie's room and its cheerful occupant who had, once upon a time, locked herself in there for hours on end. Whether it was reading, journaling, or chatting with one or a multiple of her friends, she had enjoyed being in the sanctity of her room. The spell had been broken once, and it could be broken again. As PJ's hand gripped the door knob, the crown of his head leaned into the wood. Sandy blonde bangs fell into his shimmering eyes, and he couldn't help but wonder: He may have broken the door's spell, but was there any way to counter the house's curse?

_I don't know if you're alive or dead.  
><em>_Can you on earth be sought,  
><em>_Or only when the sunsets fade  
><em>_Be mourned serenely in my thought?_

_All is for you: the daily prayer,  
><em>_The sleepless heat at night,  
><em>_And of my verses, the white  
><em>_Flock, and of my eyes, the blue fire._

_No-one was more cherished, no-one tortured  
><em>_Me more, not  
><em>_Even the one who betrayed me to torture,  
><em>_Not even the one who caressed me and forgot._

_- "I Don't Know if You're Alive or Dead" by Anna Akhmatova_


	2. Formless Cloud and Vacant Depth

_**Should have said this in the first chapter: I own none of the poems; my poetry is no where near as good as these. Also, most of the chapter titles come from lines from pieces of literature, the rest from song titles. I own none of those, either. Just putting that out there.**_

_**Also, is it bad that it wasn't until just now that I realized how uninteresting Spencer's part is in this chapter? It's just a warning. As I've said, there are filler-like parts at first, especially with Teddy and Spencer. They lead into much more interesting chapters, so please stay patient, okay? OwO**_

"_We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us." - Joseph Campbell_

Loosening his tie, Spencer fell back into the soft chair pushed into the corner of the living room. With his elbows on his knees, he placed his head into his palms, exhaling slowly. It had been a stressful day as always, but Spencer felt like he was nowhere near finishing his article. Instead of working as a serious journalist on a big-name paper, writing about world-breaking news like Spencer had wanted, he ended up having to settle for being a writer in a magazine that might as well be called _Conspiracy Theorists' Digest_.

The real title was _Beyond Our Knowledge_, and Spencer had first thought it sounded like the title for a political thriller. He had hoped to only work there until he could get a job on the _Washington Post_, but it had already been three years with eight articles. Spencer had started writing just over two years ago and had been ordered to do immense research for each one to show facts to back up these conspiracy theories. Spencer had traveled to different cities in varying states and has spent hours on end interviewing different people, reading through old books and newspapers, and combing through the internet.

Spencer didn't spend much time on the internet, though. Mr. Yumn wanted "more affinitive" facts, so Spencer would only look up books before going to find them in one of the libraries, or he would go through his business e-mail account to find readers or tin foil hat-wearing paranoid schizophrenics that wanted to talk to him. Actually, most of the people seemed very sane (albeit maybe a little paranoid), and Spencer had stopped referring to them as "tin-foil-people" after the second week. There were a few that were… Eccentric was probably the right word, but they still had interesting information. For most of the interviews, it was just weeding through what information could and could not be used—what sounded more factual and what sounded more "the mother ship".

Today, he had met with three different people: Krystle Greene at a bar in Georgetown, Ichiru Suzuki in the Chinatown Hotel lobby in Foggy Bottom, and a man who had wished to remain anonymous at a diner in Woodley Park. It had felt like a long ride back to Spencer's two-room townhouse in Eckington, and he heaved another deep sigh as he sank into his dark brown chair. He ran his hands through his dark hair and tilted his head back as his arms fell. His eyes closed as he breathed in deeply.

He sat there like that for maybe five minutes before getting up, making sure to do it slowly as to avoid dizziness. He then made his way to the other corner behind the wall separating the den and foyer. In the corner was a waist-high table with a decanter half-full of amber liquid surrounded by three overturned glasses. He turned one upright and poured just enough scotch to cover the bottom before adding a splash more.

After knocking back the glass, it was set down on the small table with a hallow **thump**. Between the four legs of the table were six books stacked on top of another. Spencer took the one from the top, recapped the decanter, and went through the narrow entryway into the foyer. Light filtered in through the thin windows on either side of the door, casting a waltz of light and shadow over the tiled floor. Spencer's socked feet barely disturbed the daily dance as he made his way to the stairway, book in hand.

The hallway was fairly short, holding his bedroom and restroom on the right and a second room on the left. Spencer went into his room, going to the straight-backed chair situated in front of his clean, steel and ash wood desk. The spine hit the desk hard, and he sighed again before opening to the page he had left off of. The book was only had the thickness of maybe the second or third _Harry Potter_ book, but the not-so-interesting content made it a slower read than that entire series.

It held theories from five different people about how the "Empire of America" would fall. Spencer had gotten to the theory about the Empire falling because of the loss of a valuable resource. The essay was called "When It Comes to Gold, Blue is the New Black", and Spencer could only nod. The book had been written over a decade ago, and these people were not entirely off the mark. This current essay seemed to be closest, with the water ration claiming much of the Earth.

A quarter ways through the twenty-seven-page essay, Spencer's mind began to wander, and he stopped upon realizing that he couldn't remember the last two paragraphs. He yawned before pushing the book away. His hours were a little more flexible than anyone else working a white-collar job, but some of the people he interviewed with tended to insist on a specific time. Krystle had claimed to prefer to sleep from late morning to the evening, saying that her mind worked best when the moon controlled the sky. This had forced Spencer to wake up at two-thirty in the morning to be at the all-night bar by three. The interview had lasted longer than he had hoped, but the amount of information the petite woman's mind held had been worth it.

Mr. Yumn better appreciate everything Spencer had gotten from her. Her experience from this secretive group was amazing, even if a few things did sound a little far-fetched. It had sounded almost like an epic tale rather than an interview, and Spencer could have _sworn_ that he had someone following him as he went from place to place across the city. It made his heart race a few times, and he caught himself looking back a few times to see if he was seeing the same car or person.

Upon catching himself doing this, though, Spencer would shake his head. He was sure that it was like watching a horror movie, seeing or hearing things that weren't really there. He'd just have to remember that he was being paranoid. As a journalist (okay, it was a conspiracy theory magazine, but Spencer still considered himself to be a journalist), he had to keep a level head and stay unbiased. The unbiased part was still hard, since Spencer didn't want to believe any of this was true, but he was working on it.

Suddenly, Spencer's phone began to vibrate from his back pocket. He shifted in his seat to retrieve the touch-screen phone. Upon seeing the name, he groaned and threw the phone over to his bed. It landed with a slight bounce and vibrated for several more seconds before becoming silent. A soft **ding!** alerted Spencer that there was now a message in his voice mail, but he never made a move to listen. He didn't want to speak to her anymore, and the only reason he kept her in his contacts was so he'd know not to answer. He had broken up with her two weeks ago, but she refused to move on. Her name was Patricia, and Spencer had met her in a restaurant. They had dated for a just a little over a month before Spencer realized how crazy she was.

It had started with phone calls when Spencer was running late due to work or an interview. She'd be asking where he was and if he was with someone else. (_That_ should have been clue one of her being a psycho.) It then escalated to her calling him _every hour_. She'd freak out if Spencer didn't answer, and Spencer had finally broken up with her after one of her episodes. It hadn't ended well, and, in Patricia's mind, it seemed like it hadn't really ended at all. She was like a virus, but Spencer hoped that she'd just stop calling if he ignored her long enough.

The cell phone started to vibrate again, and Spencer began to rub his temples, wondering if he would end up needing to file for a restraining order. She had definitely ranked as Spencer's craziest ex-girlfriend.

Stretching, Spencer rose from his chair and went over to his nightstand, opening the drawer and taking out a navy scrapbook with a silver rose silhouette stamped on the front. His phone vibrated for a third time as he held the scrapbook in his lap, and he shook his head as he picked it up, looking at the screen. Instantly, his eyes widened. It wasn't Patricia. Actually, Spencer didn't recognize the number.

After a second, Spencer accepted the call. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Fadeyka." The voice was female and familiar. "This is Krystle Greene from this morning."

"How—"

"How is not important," Krystle interrupted in her too-calm voice. Yet, Spencer was able to tell that there was urgency in her voice due to how quickly she spoke. "It is the 'why' you need to know. We have to meet again. Be at the same place as this morning at the same time. Be careful of being followed, and lock your door tonight."

With that, she hung up, leaving Spencer confused and thinking about what had happened that day. Tucking his cell phone back into his pocket, he went downstairs and grabbed his briefcase, which was leaning against the wall. Inside the case was the research he had gotten so far, including today's interviews. Spencer wasn't entirely sure why, but he believed Krystle and made sure the door was locked before heading back upstairs. Once there, the placed the briefcase by his bed and picked back up the scrapbook. He looked through it every so often, remembering those wonderful years in high school. Now, though, Spencer had to keep his mind in the present. The past was the past—a mere distraction from what was happening. If everything Krystle and the other two had said—

"What am I thinking?" Spencer shook his head. He then looked at the front of the scrapbook for a moment. Exhaling slowly, Spencer shut his eyes and put the large, square book away. "I need to just think for a while." He closed the drawer. "Bye, Teddy."

**XXX**

Heaving a sigh, Charlie sat up in her cot, throwing her legs over the edge so that her feet pressed against the compacted dirt that made up the floor. Stretching her arms over her head, she cracked her back and let out a soft groan before rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. It felt like she hadn't had a good night's rest since she was in Denver, hugging that stuffed horse she always hid in the closet whenever one of her friends came over to visit. Happy-Happy Horse was still in that closet, glassy eyes staring at nothing while Charlie was in a tiny hut made of wood, straw, and dung. Luckily, it didn't smell—much. She had gotten used to it over the past four days.

Two years ago, Charlie had gotten into a car with Sierra, and the twelve-year-old left her home with only two pairs of jeans, two short-sleeved shirts, two long-sleeved shirts, a thick sweater, a leather jacket, four pairs of socks, two bras, and six pairs of underwear in her backpack along with a box of stationary, and five pens. She also had three wax sticks (silver), and a seal. She had complained that this would not be enough, but Sierra had just shaken her head.

"If you can get up in the morning and wonder 'What shoes will I wear today,' you are part of the wealthy ten-percent of the world. Get ready to start living like the majority, Charlie" had been her only response. Her turquoise eyes had stared ahead intently as her square jaw set, and Charlie had looked back to gaze at her black and purple over-shoulder backpack. It had been next to Sierra's forest green duffel bag.

They had ditched the car at the airport, and Sierra had wiped down the steering wheel, radio, doors, front seats, gear shift, and keys, which were tossed into the back seat, as the wipe was tucked into Sierra's pocket. Charlie had closed her door with a bump of her hip, heaving her backpack over her shoulder. Her textbooks were still sitting in a neat pile a block away from the school, and Charlie had barely caught her new passport from Sierra, who tossed it without warning. Her name was now Claire Smith, she had turned fourteen a month before taking that trip, and she and Sierra were to pretend not to know each other once in the airport. A woman would pretend to be Charlie's mother and see her off as Charlie passed through the gate.

Mind back in the present, Charlie looked over at her caretaker, who slept in the next cot, looking as if she could wake up in an instant, ready to fight. Both of them had been nearing the border of paranoia ever since Boston, but the thirty-year-old had been much better at hiding it, though Charlie often caught her glancing back, ready to draw her hidden gun. The woman with the mahogany corkscrew curls often wore long, loose shirts to hide the holster and Taurus PT-99, a suppresser always in her pocket.

"You never know" was all she had said as she cleaned the gun one day while they were in Augusta, Charlie watching with wide eyes.

It also wasn't the only gun the woman had. In her bag along with a few changes of clothes and toiletries were a Beretta 92 FS, CZ 75b, a Beretta M12, and a Remington 870 with a folding stock. There was also plenty of ammunition, and Sierra made it her business to know where she could get more wherever they went—just in case. Luckily, they hadn't had to use the guns more than eight times tops, and Charlie had learned how to use the CZ 75b in Augusta so Sierra could be sure she could defend herself if the need arose. She never actually had to use it (thankfully), which made her breathe a sigh in relief. The Beretta 92 FS was currently kept with Scarlett, who was on guard duty outside. Charlie wished she could sleep soundly even one night, the lack of it plus her nerves pushing her closer and closer to the edge she'd been fighting to keep away from.

_Sometimes I wish I never even got entangled in this crap_, she thought sullenly, tearing up as she thought about her family.

She had already transported that letter to Teddy just yesterday. It was still early to fall asleep—only twenty o'clock. She had tried to go to sleep right after sending the letter. They were due to leave only a couple of hours after midnight—boat this time instead of plane. They were miles away from the nearest town, hiding out in a jungle. Over the course of the two years, Charlie had preferred the more comfortable places, finally realizing how spoiled she had been.

She didn't even have running water here! Her clothes were still drying on the desk (if a table crafted from warped boards could be called a desk) beneath the window carved out of the wall of the single-room hut. They had bathed, done laundry and gotten water from a nearby stream, having to boil the water before drinking it to make sure they didn't get sick.

Charlie hadn't used her laptop since they were in the city five days before. Scarlett had gone to town with the laptop (with Charlie's permission), replying to Teddy's e-mail and saying that she was backpacking through Europe. Charlie didn't like lying or being forced out of her home and comfort zone, but Scarlett had argued that it wasn't lying—they _were_ backpacking, and they _had_ been in Europe just last month. Charlie had sighed, offering a small smile at Scarlett's attempt to liven the dark mood.

The steps of Scarlett's footfalls were light and barely noticeable. Last Charlie saw, she had borrowed Charlie's scrunchie to try and keep her shoulder length, light brown waves out of her narrow face, skin a deep bronze from the sun. She had taken up her shift barely an hour ago, hazel-green eyes tired and her movements forced—the opposite of when Charlie had first met her.

Scarlett had been the one that did the introductions, her thin, red-pink lips in a half-smile. "I'm Scarlett, the scheming rebel, and this is my older sister, Sierra, the trigger-happy smartass." Sierra had only smiled as she nodded, lips parting to show her slightly crooked teeth.

Smiling slightly, Charlie looked back at Sierra again. Her Taurus PT-99 was under the bed within reach, and her lips were in a steady frown as lines formed along her small forehead. A thin blanket covered most of her body, though Charlie could see that she, like herself, was fully dressed. They had to be ready to run at any given moment, though Charlie did not like the thought of having to leave any of her clothes behind while they dried. She had to do that when in Padua, and, to Charlie, it felt like leaving yet another piece of her heart behind. She had already left her home—a place she had lived in since birth. Charlie had always wanted to travel the world, but that was with the knowledge that she could always return home. She did not have that knowledge anymore. Most people probably thought her to be dead. She'd seen those crime shows—after a certain time, they're no longer searching for a person but a body. Charlie could only imagine the hell she was putting her family through—especially Teddy.

Teddy may now know that Charlie was alive, but she also now knew something worse: Charlie had left _willingly_. She had put her family through all that pain with full knowledge of what she was doing. Probably thinking Charlie was dead hurt less than this new knowledge she was not even allowed to share with the others. Charlie had begged Teddy not to tell anyone about the letters in that first message. Charlie, herself, did not tell Teddy everything, not wanting to put her in any more danger than she was in already. The situation was much more serious than she had first imagined when she was twelve and starting up her blog.

She had never thought that the possession of knowledge would put her in so much danger. She looked for death everywhere. Anything that seemed even a tad out of place put her on high alert. She got lucky on a number of occasions with Scarlett's quick reaction time and Sierra's knowledge that sometimes seemed infinite. Both had done things Charlie had once thought Hollywood had just made up.

Getting up, Charlie kept her footfalls quiet as she went over to her clothes, feeling over the fabric. They were mostly dry, so she stuffed them into her backpack, which now had a couple of patches sewn on where holes had begun to form. Her laptop was in a protective case, the charger in the pocket. The box of stationary was a bit lighter now after having lost seventeen sheets of paper and thirteen envelopes. One of her sealing wax sticks was almost all gone, and could only be good for probably one or two more letters. She rolled up her clothes tightly so they could all fit, a few of them needing replacing already—Charlie hadn't realized how much one could grow over a course of time.

She was now about five-foot-six, and her body had become more defined. More than once, the travelling had slowed because she needed painkillers. Cramps were even worse in the middle of a dense jungle, merciless desert, or cruel snowstorm. (But at least in the snowstorm, they were in a cabin.)

Gingerly, Charlie got out her laptop, unzipping the case. The amount of life should be good enough for around three hours, and she would need to get a new battery soon. Hopefully, their next stop would be more modern than this hut and in a place where she could understand at least a few phrases of the language. Swahili was pretty confusing, and the only words Charlie knew were "_Jambo_" and "_Asante_." "Hello" and "Thank you." (Thankfully, many people also spoke English.)

Taking out her pink and white ear buds, she plugged them into her laptop as she turned it on, pushing the buds into her ears to where she would still be able to hear any stray noises from outside while listening to the videos she watched over and over. They were all from Teddy, and there were one-thousand-ninety-eight in all. Teddy had started making the video diaries when Charlie was nine months of age and stopped when Charlie turned three. Charlie had received the discs containing the videos when she turned twelve, and Charlie loved watching them, though she was somewhat disheartened to see how much Gabe had hated her when she was a baby and toddler. The two had gotten along before Gabe left for college, but he was usually hauled up in his room, so that had probably helped their relationship.

Double clicking on that first video, Charlie smiled as Teddy introduced herself and the rest of their "special" family. Mom looked tired and in need of a change of clothes, PJ was struggling with homework (surprise, surprise), and Dad was correcting Teddy once again about the title of his job. Charlie's smile grew when Teddy made that throaty noise as she dragged a finger over her neck. Most of the videos didn't last more than one minute, and every single one of them had the same ending: "Good luck, Charlie."

Charlie's eyes were shimmering with tears that held sorrow, happiness, longing, and guilt as Teddy gave her goodbye and shut off the camera, ending the video. The warm liquid diamonds slid over her smooth cheeks, and the teenager placed a hand over her strained smile to keep any sobs from escaping and waking up the woman with the gun within arm's reach.

Biting her bottom lip, Charlie closed her eyes and inclined her head, allowing her split ends to brush along the small of her back. She clenched her teeth, lips twisted in a grimace. With all of the moving around, Charlie usually did not have much chance to mull over everything she had left behind. Now she wished she had never thought about it. It hurt so much, her heart tearing itself into little pieces as her lungs and throat slowly turned to stone. Knives had somehow gotten into her body and were cutting up her twisting stomach. Her spine had been tying itself into every knot imaginable, and her head pounded so much, she was almost afraid that, within minutes, skull fragments and brain matter would litter the floor of the hut.

Gathering herself, Charlie put away her laptop and wiped the tears away from her sun-bronzed cheeks and blue-green-grey eyes. She brushed through her sand-colored hair with her fingers, taking deep breaths. The tears would not stop, even as Charlie mentally screamed at herself to cease her sobs. She had to be strong. She had to be.

As soon as she had run away, Charlie had had to force herself to grow up and stay on the level she believed she should be on. She had to force herself to become the adult she thought Sierra and Scarlett should be around, but, the truth of the matter was, Charlie was still a kid. Though she was fourteen and resented the title 'child', that's what she was—at least compared to the standards she had set for herself.

Sierra would teach Charlie core subjects in any spare time they had, and Charlie was amazed that she was actually ahead in math rather than behind. Sierra had put a special emphasis on math and science, and Charlie was currently learning trigonometry (she would have been in geometry back in Denver) and biology. She should have moved onto chemistry already, but Charlie was still having trouble with molecular biology (Sierra liked to go in-depth), so she had been held back a little so she could learn that well before moving onto chemistry.

Swallowing back her sobs, Charlie tried to keep her mind on her lessons. They would keep her mind off of the sorrow, longing, and guilt tugging at her soul and making her heart try to escape the confines of her chest. She tried to think about the book at the bottom of her backpack, which Scarlett had bought her while they were in London.

It was _Animal Farm_ by George Orwell. Normally, when Charlie was studying literature, it was at the local library (if there was one), but Charlie could not tear her eyes away from the book, remembering that video where Teddy had thanked Charlie for helping her get an _A_ on her book report. That book report had been on _Animal Farm_. It wasn't a thick book, so Scarlett had bought it for her with some of the money they hoarded, and Charlie kept it with her like a safety blanket.

The book was definitely cared for, despite the many times Charlie had read it. She could recall many passages by heart now, and she would recite certain passages in her mind to calm herself down. She felt almost as if it connected her to Teddy somehow and that her older sister could, in some way, feel the bliss (though temporary) that filled Charlie as she remembered the words, mouthing them as her tongue caressed every silent word as if it were a lifeline.

In a way, it was.

Charlie may be alive physically, but, psychologically, her strength dwindled. She would hide it from her guardians, feeling the need to feign strength and collectiveness even when she was ready to collapse into a fetal position and cry until there were no tears left.

"'They had come to a time when no one dared speak his mind, when fierce, growling dogs roamed everywhere, and when you had to watch your comrades torn to pieces after confessing to shocking crimes,'" Charlie recited.

She blinked slowly and then zipped up her backpack as she tried to bring back the memories of her early childhood that had long been sentenced to her subconscious. The teenager placed her backpack softly onto the desk when Scarlett suddenly rushed in. Charlie whipped around, careful not to make any noise. Scarlett's steps had been silent, and there was worry in her doe-like eyes that made the color drain from Charlie's face.

_Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,  
><em>_Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,  
><em>_While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,  
><em>_As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.  
><em>'_Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door -  
><em>_Only this, and nothing more.'_

_- "The Raven" (stanza 1) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	3. Honor: Subject of the Story

_**The quote Gabe is thinking of near the end of the chapter is "A little learning is a dangerous thing" by Alexander Pope.**_

"_If I could say Mother. Mother" - from The Sound and the Fury_

"Sierra!" Scarlett hissed, gun in both hands, lowered to where it was pointed towards the floor. Her thin eyebrows knitted together when her older sister barely stirred. "Senka Divines," she breathed, teeth clenched. She breathed deeply, nostrils flaring slightly as she tried to calm down. Through her teeth, she hissed her sister's name once again. "_Sierra_!"

"Senka—" In one, fluid motion, Sierra took up her gun and got to her feet, knocking the blanket to the floor. Her dark brown curls tumbled to her narrow waist, and her loose-fitting, ebony taj tunic hid the holster strapped around her waist. There was a spark of worry in her large, almond-shaped eyes, but it soon ebbed as she fought to keep her freckled face neutral and emotions under control. "How many, how close, and what weapons?" Her words were low and quick, only a trickle of alarm dripping into her voice.

Standing up, Charlie looked back and forth between the two sisters as Scarlett hastily replied, "Three, Tatum said about twenty to thirty meters, and he said there's an uzi, GM S-and-W sigma, and a Desert Eagle mark Seven." Scarlett, unable to rope in her emotions as quickly as her sister, took a breath before adding, "They must not know our exact location, due to this." She took the light blue scrunchie out of her hair and tossed it over to Charlie.

Readjusting her grip on her gun, Sierra nodded, and Charlie darted over to her bed to get the CZ 75b. The holster was already lying over her left hip, hidden by her empire waist tunic.

"What now?" she asked, holstering her gun and putting her hair in a low ponytail. She then slung the strap of her backpack over her head and adjusted it so that the pack rested comfortably over her back.

"Is Tatum handling them?" Sierra kept her pistol out, and Charlie decided to take back out her gun as well.

"The team split up, but Tatum's tailing the one with the sigma. I'll go after the one with the Desert Eagle. Last I heard, he was searching along the creek. The one with the uzi should be south of here." Scarlett kept the anxiety out of her voice this time, but it still shone clearly in her eyes.

"Okay." Sierra gave a nod and grabbed her duffel bag as she slung Scarlett's black backpack over her shoulders. "I'll take Charlie west. They'd expect us to go towards town." Her almond-shaped eyes fell onto Charlie. "Stay right behind me to the left. Keep your steps quiet, mouth shut, and ears open." Sierra took the silencer out of the pocket of her onyx-colored cargos. She got her pistol ready and then reached into a pocket of the duffel bag. "These guys tend to be fairly predictable when it comes to invasion, but we still need to be ready for anything." She motioned for Charlie to come closer, and the fourteen-year-old readily agreed, handing over her gun when Sierra reached for it.

"I'll see y'all when it's safe," Scarlett whispered. "I'll meet you in Mombasa, right?"

Sierra gave a nod as she screwed a suppresser onto Charlie's gun. "We'll sail to Seychelles in five days after staying away from town for three."

"Got it."

"May the Guardians be with you."

"You too." Scarlett then departed, disappearing into the shadows. Charlie swallowed as she watched her leave, finding that her throat was now dry.

A hand brushed over her shoulder, and Charlie turned back to face Sierra, who handed back her gun. "Let's go." She readjusted her bags and began to leave the hut, Charlie following and making sure to do exactly as told.

With her heart thudding, throat constricting, and stomach imitating her spine's art of knot-tying, Charlie took slow, deep breaths as she crept through the darkness, leaves brushing against her thin legs. She tried to avoid the broader leaves, not wanting to make any noise. Her bare, callused feet stuck out from under the hem of her long jeans, collecting dirt and small rocks. Charlie watched her step and looked down briefly, noticing that Sierra, too, was barefoot. Their boots were in the backpack, but they weren't going to stop just to put them on until Sierra was sure that the two of them were safe. The woman held her gun out in front of her, and Charlie held her own gun in her right hand, left hand wrapped around her wrist. Due to her nervousness, her habit of digging her nails into her skin had resurfaced, but the fear kept her from feeling any pain.

The subtle sound of dirt shifting tickled Charlie's ears, and she listened for any footsteps other than Sierra's and her own. Beads of sweat gathered along Charlie's hairline, a few running down her large forehead. She blinked rapidly to keep them from getting into her eyes, mind whirling as she commanded herself to stay calm.

_I can't panic_, she thought, trying to think of only her breathing. _I've survived for two years. I can survive tonight_.

That was the word used to describe Charlie's current existence: survival. She wasn't living—at least not by her definition. Changing houses every few days and cities every few weeks or months wasn't living. Always having to look over her shoulder and be ready to run was not living. Always being alone with her somber thoughts as she wondered if every breath would be her last was not living.

Either Sierra or Scarlett (if not both) was usually with her at all times, but Charlie could never bring herself to talk to them about her thoughts and worries. Charlie may trust them with her life, but she couldn't really find it in her to trust them with her innermost thoughts—issues festering within her very soul. Sierra and Scarlett were lucky. They could talk to each other. Where one was weak, the other was strong. When one had a problem, the other became her therapist and motivator. Whether that called for a long talk, some tea, hugs, or just a kick in the butt (sometimes literally) depended on the sister and the situation. Out of the two, Scarlett was definitely the easiest to relate to. Sierra was more stoic and untouchable during times of crisis. Scarlett actually showed the human emotion Charlie felt. Still, she normally could not go up to her.

There had been a few times—mostly during the first year—where Scarlett had come up to her, already knowing that this was way too much for the young girl to handle. She had the maternal instinct that had seemed to skip over the other sister entirely. Yet, the statue had her moments too—but only with Scarlett. Charlie had only heard Sierra cry once, and it was through the door. Scarlett had left her alone in the living room of the apartment for a few minutes to go console Sierra. It was that raw emotion from the usually calm and collected woman that had broken through the wall Charlie had built around herself upon first leaving Denver. The wall had kept her face forever blank, eyes void of any emotion that she should have felt—she was simply shocked, her brain unable to register any of those feelings. That crying broke through her wall like glass, and Charlie had spent the rest of the night crying in the bathroom, trying to pull herself together.

_It's gotten better_, Charlie told herself as she followed Sierra deeper into the forest. _It's gotten easier._

No, it hadn't. Charlie had only gotten better at hiding everything. She had gotten better at keeping her mind off of all the dangers surrounding her. Dealing with her fears, longing, sorrow, and anger hadn't gotten easier. It accumulated within her, periodically coming out in sudden bursts. It could be something small that set her off—a word, a smell, or just seeing the sunset or sunrise. She would huddle into a corner or against a wall, keeping herself in an enclosed space like the bathroom so that her guardians would not bother her. Charlie had suspected that they knew, but they seemed to think that Charlie needed to come to them.

In truth, Charlie usually needed someone to beat down her door and _make_ her start talking. It would be a fight at first, but, after a few minutes, everything would spill out. It was usually with her mom, since it would have been awkward talking to her dad about most of her problems. Those problems that now seemed so stupid to Charlie as she crept through the jungle. She remembered how her mom would sit with her for hours to help her through her problems. Teddy had done the same when she could, but their mom was always there, and Charlie couldn't believe that she had taken that for granted. Tears stung her wide-set eyes, but she blinked them away, needing to stay focused on what was happening.

Clearing her mind of those memories, Charlie scanned the floor with her eyes, ears, and nose. In the distance, there was a gunshot, and Sierra threw one arm out, leading Charlie into a bush. The long leaves were slick from last night's shower, and Charlie had to crouch down low to stay hidden, hearing more shots. She kept her gun out, concealed by the leaves but still with a clear path. Sierra holstered her gun and threw her bags into the bush next to and behind Charlie. She then used the vines to climb up to the first branch of the tree the shrub had gathered around. The first branch was about seven feet up, but Sierra perched herself on it fairly easily, grabbing some vines with one hand to keep her balance as she took back out her gun. She used the leaves and their shadows to hide, pointing her gun in front of her, waiting. The gunshot had sounded like it came from the northeast—though Sierra could not be completely sure. Her mind was spinning so quickly, it could have come from right behind them for all she knew.

The echoes had already died as the two hid, and the combination of high heat and humidity made them perspire. It wasn't silent—it never was—but neither heard anything out of place. Still, both were sure that the people searching for them had a way to communicate. If one of them had found Scarlett or Tatum, then the other two knew about it and knew that they were somewhere around here. Sierra did not want to take any chances. They had gone far too long and had worked too hard to be found now. They had gotten away the last three times. That meant they could escape this one. In the course of two years, their location had only been known a few times, and it was never exact. They only knew the general area, making it much easier for them to get away. Sierra thanked every Guardian, Angel, and Divine for this, and she sang hails to Leorensenka in her mind, praying for the strength she needed to get through all of this.

Below her guardian, Charlie crouched, her legs beginning to cramp up. She still refused to move, however. She would not move until Sierra was down and signaling for her to follow. Her heart pounded harder, almost creating an echo in the heavy air. Birds chirped as small mammals scurried about, but then Charlie began to hear the soft **crunch, crunch** of footsteps. Separating from the shadows was a man, holding up an uzi. His fair hair was cut almost to his scalp, showing sharply pointed ears, and his blue eyes stood out even in the darkness.

Charlie felt her finger move, and there were two muzzle flashes before the towering man dropped to the ground. His gun landed next to his limp body, and Charlie waited until Sierra climbed down a minute or so later, going to inspect it. As she did, she still held out her gun, ready to shoot again if the man moved. She looked at his head, bent down to feel his neck for a pulse, and then scooped up his gun. She gave a nod to Charlie, and the blonde obeyed, bringing the two bags over to Sierra.

With a tight-lipped smile, Sierra set down her pistol and clicked on the uzi's two safety systems before carefully placing it into her duffel bag. After heaving the backpack over her shoulders, she took up the duffel bag and then her gun. She motioned for Charlie to follow and began to walk off, her stride wider and more hurried. Before following, Charlie stole a glance at the body. There were two bullet holes—one just below the collar bone on the right side and one between the thick eyebrows. Charlie was sure that her bullet was the one below the collar bone—she wasn't a very good shot. Still, he was dead.

_It's justified_, she told herself. _He would have killed _us_. It's self-defense._

Swallowing, Charlie quickly went to follow Sierra, heart hammering in her throat, refusing to go back down into her chest no matter how many times she swallowed. Her stomach was still churning, and Charlie had to fight the urge to vomit. She tried to keep the image of the dead man out of her head, but his face kept returning. She blinked hard, telling herself over and over that it was justified.

_It probably wasn't even my bullet. Sierra's a better shot. She must have been the one to shoot him in the head_.

Again, she forced herself to keep her mind blank. There was nothing she could do about it. He was dead, but she was alive. That line from _Call of the Wild_ popped up in her mind as she quietly walked over the forest floor: "Kill or be killed."

As much as people refused to admit or even acknowledge it, they were all living, in some shape or form, in the wild. There was no true civility and no true white to battle against the black. They all lived in the grey, no matter how righteous they tried to act. Charlie tried to tell herself this. She tried to tell herself that he would have killed her. That even if they had only given him a nonlethal shot or had just made him unconscious, he would have probably died there anyway.

None of it worked. Charlie had never seen a dead body that up-close before. She had always known that death was there, of course, but it was always just an idea—something abstract. It wasn't concrete. It wasn't completely real. Now it was, and Charlie could barely stand it. Death was now more real for her than ever. It was waiting in the shadows, patient and with the faintest of smiles forever kissing those pale lips. It made a chill scamper up Charlie's spine, forcing her muscles to tense before the feeling passed.

Once again, she made herself forget, instead thinking about her family. No one ever expected the baby of the family to be the protector, but this is what Charlie did. _She_ was the one they wanted, and they already knew that her family had no knowledge of her whereabouts or why she had even disappeared. Other agents like Sierra and Scarlett watched her family to make sure that none of them were attacked. Charlie was important, but she was no more important than the others that were like her. The Giltebreks wouldn't waste every one of their resources to capture or kill Charlie when there were others. They didn't necessarily want to kill her. They wanted her to be silenced.

But Charlie had made it all too clear that the only way for her to be silenced was for her to stop breathing.

**XXX**

The small room was quiet as Gabe awoke, and he smiled upon finding his face buried in the mound of light brown hair with streaks of gold and honey. It smelled of pomegranates, and it was wavy from the French braid it had been in all day yesterday. Jo still slept soundly, lying on her side. Gabe was right behind her, under the white sheets and blue comforter, his arm over her slim body. The woman clutched his hand to her chest, and Gabe could clearly picture the placid look on her heart-shaped face. Sleep was probably the only time she was ever this calm, and Gabe just wanted to relish the moment as he lay there, taking in the moment before he had to get ready for his work as an intern. After a couple of minutes, he kissed Jo on her neck and slipped his arm out of Jo's grip. Luckily, she was a heavy sleeper. She was never much of a morning person, her temperament only slightly better than that of rabid pitbull before noon.

The man of twenty-four years made sure to be quiet as he went into the joined bathroom, softly closing the door behind him. When the light came on, he squeezed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again and going to the tub to put water into the bucket. It held one gallon, and he let the water run until about just less than halfway. Gabe then stepped away for a moment to undress. He only wore his pajama bottoms, the long-sleeved top coving his girlfriend's torso.

It took only minutes for Gabe to get clean, washing his hair first. The cold water cast goose bumps over his skin, and Gabe thought about how he and Teddy used to fight about her hogging the hot water. He had hoped that those days would have been over after she went off to college, but then Charlie started to pick up that same habit when she outgrew taking bubble baths. Now, Gabe was back to washing up in cold water, but now there was a limit on how much. It annoyed both him and Jo to no end—Jo especially.

She was an artist, and her favorite medium was watercolor. She also used acrylics and oil, but she tended to use mixed media for nearly all of her works. The price of many of the supplies she needed was too high sometimes, forcing her to take on another job in addition to her artwork. Gabe was just glad that she was able to get her paintings into some art magazines, and one of them actually has her send in a painting or series regularly.

"Leave me alone. My next series is due in two weeks, and I'm only on my _fifth_ painting!" Jo had yelled the day before as she worked on "Lost Childhood" in the living room.

Gabe had granted her wish, quietly watching her work as he stood at the counter in the kitchen. He loved how she'd put her long hair, which nearly reached her narrow waist, up in whatever 'do she had decided on in the morning. He liked seeing her in her loose, paint-splattered jeans, which hung loose on her hips due to her dislike of belts. He would stare at how her wrinkled shirt (usually a dark-colored tee) hung on her frame, the hem and sleeves wet and stained with paint because she was too lazy to get a paper towel from the kitchen. Her small, wrinkled nose as she thought about what else the painting needed always caught his eye, along with the streaks of color on her forehead and cheek when she would tap the brush on her face while deep in thought.

Art was not a career Gabe would have first picked out for his girlfriend, but he had to admit that she had talent pouring from her fingertips and onto each canvas. Four individual paintings had already been sold, and a private school in Oregon had bought an entire ten-piece series. Jo still practiced karate and even taught Gabe so she could have a sparring partner, and Gabe smiled at the memory of their last match. He still had bruises on his upper back and shin, but he had been able to land several hits on her as well.

They had a match every Friday, and Gabe chuckled as he left the bathroom in his towel, turning off the bathroom light. From the doorway, he watched Jo sleep, snoring lightly. Her brow was wrinkled, and her lips were curved into a slight frown. She had forgotten to clean off the bit of Prussian blue paint above her right temple, and the silver ear barbell near the top of her right ear shone in the sunlight that seeped through the partly-closed blinds. It was the barbell with the skull in the center that Gabe had given her for her birthday three months ago.

After getting dressed, Gabe went into the kitchen and got out the box of Cheerios. He clicked the CD player on and turned down the volume so he wouldn't wake up Jo—it'd look bad if he showed up in the building with a black eye and blood all over him. "I Will Not Bow" by Breaking Benjamin came on, and Gabe ate quickly before placing the bowl and spoon in the sink. His messenger bag was on the floor next to the uncomfortable couch, and he grabbed it before going out the door. Once the door was locked, Gabe stood by the balcony and got his cigarettes from the messenger bag. Taking one out with his mouth, he put the cigarettes back before getting out the golden lighter.

Gabe wasn't able to smoke in the apartment, and he was a little twitchy from not having any nicotine in two days. He took a long drag before capping the lighter and slipping it into his pocket. As he blew out the smoke, he could almost see the images of his fights with Jo about his "nasty habit". Smoking was the only thing they fought about—_really_ fought about. Gabe had first started smoking in the ninth grade, but he had quit for a few years before starting again during his third year in college when the stress really started to get to him. Jo, the health-nut, always screamed at him and twice flushed down a pack down the toilet and once ran over Gabe's pack with their car. The last fight had ended with paint on the wall, a bruise on Gabe's shoulder, a tear in Jo's plaid shirt, and creamed corn in the stereo speakers. (They were _still_ cleaning that thing.)

Jo had finally given up on forcing him to quit, but she had put up conditions: he could only smoke outside, and he had to survive on a pack for two weeks. To make her happy and keep from getting oil paint in his hair again, Gabe complied. There'd been times where he had tried to quit, but the gum didn't work, the patches gave him a rash, and the nasal spray gave him nasal inflammation. He figured just cutting down the number of times he smoked each day would help, but then he'd have a hard day in class or work. Smoking calmed him down, and Gabe needed to be able to be calm at a time like this.

There was nothing in his control anymore—not completely. Only his breathing and the steady stream of smoke leaving through his mouth seemed to be what was within his realm of control. Everything else was like the smoke now blowing away with the wind. It was concrete but still mostly abstract. He could see it, but there was no force that would allow him to catch it in his hands.

It was like when he was younger, watching Teddy try to take still shots of lightning during storms. Almost all the time, she'd just get a blank sky, a nanosecond too late. The closest she usually got was light in the clouds. Only twice in all of her attempts did she manage a picture of lightning striking the earth. One picture looked like a bright yellow-white, bony arm breaking off into three, jagged fingers that reached into the dark abyss of the cloud.

The second was blue, the strike breaking into a fork with one jagged finger ramming into a building as the other went to the ground. Gabe felt like he was split into three: one part of him was in the building, suddenly struck by something hot and painful and not even realizing what happened, due to the lightning being one-hundred-times faster than his mind; the second part of him was the photographer, forever waiting and hoping to capture one of the earth's destructive and elusive forces; and the third part of him was stripped atom by atom and floating within the cloud, never truly whole and was being betrayed by the very force he had helped to create.

Life shouldn't be that complicated. It shouldn't be… Unfair wasn't exactly the right word.

Unjust? Unwarranted? Unreasonable?

Deceitful and underhanded sounded a little closer. Gabe guessed it came from Justice never taking off her blindfold. She probably went by the rule that said ignorance was bliss. Who was it that said a little learning was a dangerous thing, again? Whoever it was, he was right. It _was_ dangerous. Knowledge was power, and power brought enemies. It didn't matter what Gabe did or was doing; what mattered was what he _could_ do. Someone said that it was the unknown that was feared when looking out into the darkness—J.K. Rowling, Gabe remembered. That had rung true throughout Gabe's life.

Freddy Kreuger himself could be in Gabe's closet with the door wide open, but that wouldn't be near as scary as the door being closed with the possibility of _anyone_ being behind that door, waiting in the secretive shadows.

"Damn," Gabe whispered, the smoke leaving his mouth as he did so. His cigarette was down to the butt, and he just took up his messenger bag and pressed the stub into the ashtray near the stairs. He shook his head lightly as he made his way down the steps, mind going to the building on East 36th Avenue. As the image stuck itself to the front of his mind, Gabe muttered, "Time to report to Agent Asshole."

_Death sets a thing significant  
><em>_The eye had hurried by,  
><em>_Except a perished creature  
><em>_Entreat us tenderly_

_To ponder little workmanships  
><em>_In crayon or in wool,  
><em>_With "This was last her fingers did,"  
><em>_Industrious until_

_The thimble weighed too heavy,  
><em>_The stitches stopped themselves,  
><em>_And then 't was put among the dust  
><em>_Upon the closet shelves.  
><em>_A book I have, a friend gave,  
><em>_Whose pencil, here and there,  
><em>_Had notched the place that pleased him,-  
><em>_At rest his fingers are._

_Now, when I read, I read not,  
><em>_For interrupting tears  
><em>_Obliterate the etchings  
><em>_Too costly for repairs._

_- "Death sets a thing" by Emily Dickenson_


	4. Who Sees How Mercilessly Time Passes

**_The chapter title is a line in the song Teddy is listening to, translated into English. It's "5. März" by Megaherz, which I obviously do not own. Anyway, enjoy. :)_**

"_But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two of no importance, and gloom is but the passing shadow of a cloud." - from The Life of Pi_

List in hand, Teddy strolled through the grocery store. She had already seen Lena and David off to school; the hyperactive girl with doe-like eyes nearly choked her with a hug as David merely gave a lopsided smile. The elder of the two was an introvert, opposite of the little ball of energy that he had for a sister. Teddy had watched as the thirteen-year-old led Lena towards the stop for the city bus, which was just a couple of blocks down from the apartment building.

A smile had kissed Teddy's pink-painted lips as she watched David hold his little sister's hand, not wanting to let anything happen to her. The guileless girl had skipped along next to him, her pink bag bouncing off of her side and pulling on strands of her long, red-brown hair. Once they had gotten onto the bus, Teddy left for the store. It was a bit of a ways away from the apartment, but Teddy had always preferred walking over taking the bus. It helped her think better.

Listening to the pink iPod nano that had somehow survived for fifteen years, Teddy looked along the aisles for the juice Lena and David liked. Upon first arriving, Teddy hadn't liked most of the juices. She had not expected carbonation, and it had taken all of her will to not make a face. When she had e-mailed Ivy about it, she had told her, "The cranberry juice was really good once I let it go flat."

That had earned her an "lol" from her best friend. Now, though, Teddy quite enjoyed them, but she still usually stuck to water to save a few euros.

"_Siehst du mich?  
>Hrst du mich?<br>__Was hab ich dir getan?  
><em>_Warum zerstrst du mich?  
>Fhlst du mich?<br>Sprst du mich?  
>Wenn du mich nicht mehr liebst,<br>Warum berhrst du mich?  
>Brauchst du mich?<br>Sag glaubst du nicht,  
>Dass es besser ist,<br>Du lebst dein Leben ohne mich?  
><em>_Erkennst du mich?  
>Verstehst du nicht?<br>Warum bist du berhaupt noch hier,  
>Was willst du noch von mir?"<em>

Teddy's favorite song by Megaherz filled her ears, and Teddy let out a sigh as she smiled, getting some ingredients she would need to make dinner. She sang along in her mind, thinking about the first verse:

_Do you see me?  
>Do you hear me?<br>What did I do to you?  
>Why do you destroy me?<br>Do you feel me?  
>Do you notice me?<br>If you do not love me any longer,  
>Why are you touching me?<br>Do you need me?  
>Say, don't you think that it is better,<br>You live your life without me?  
>Do you recognize me?<br>Don't you understand?  
>Why are you here at all?<br>What do you still want from me?_

The song came to an end as Teddy went to the checkout line. She turned off her iPod and took out the ear buds as she approached the woman at the counter. Both shared polite greetings, and Teddy paid the money Frau Mayr had left for the groceries. The price for the juice had risen again, but Teddy refrained from making a face. She used the canvas bags she had brought with her, and, because of their heft, Teddy decided to take the bus back to the apartment building. She turned her iPod back on when she took her seat by a window, the bags on the floor. She used her legs to keep them upright as she listened to her music, an instrumental song by Escaping Love making her exhale slowly and smile.

An upbeat, Latin American song filled Teddy's ears as she exited the bus and headed for the apartment building. It had taken her some time to find it when she had first arrived in Vienna, and Teddy mused that she would be leaving soon now that she knew where everything was. She went into the building and headed up the staircase that made a spiral going along the wall. Teddy loved the feel of this old building. It made her feel like a part of history. Teddy had always preferred history and English over math and science, and Teddy had always thought that working in an embassy would be very nice. A city rich in history as well as pleasing to Teddy's eye. Currently, Teddy had been mulling over maybe working in Paris, London, Rome, Berlin, or maybe here in Vienna.

On the second landing, Teddy went straight to the apartment and unlocked the door. The apartment was actually much larger than what she had thought when she had first arrived, though it was, of course, still much smaller than the two-story house she had grown up in. The path through the kitchen was narrow, with the sink, stove, oven, and refrigerator on one side and cabinets, drawers, and granite counter on the other. Teddy put away the groceries and went to retrieve the cleaning supplies to tidy up the apartment. She used the band on her wrist to put up her ponytail, and she also got out the small clip she keeps in her pocket to pin back her long fringe bangs. As she took hold of the broom, her iPod had switched to "Brave Face" by Delta Goodrem.

**xxx**

Stretching her arms over her head, Teddy cracked her back after putting the cleaning supplies away. She then washed her hands in the sink before getting a plate and ingredients to make a Nutella sandwich. She also got the half-full bottle of her favorite, fizzy cranberry juice from the fridge and sat at the small, circular table near the window.

Before eating, Teddy went down the hallway into her room to retrieve her book: _Fahrenheit 451 _by Ray Bradbury. Teddy had picked it up at a used bookstore, the image of a man crafted from paper set on fire intriguing her. She had bought it, but, upon bringing it to school the next day, she had gotten in trouble—_her_ of all people!

As it turned out, the book had been banned from her school, and Teddy had to have her dad come pick up the book that afternoon. Still intrigued, Teddy had kept reading and realized that the fact the book was banned was _extremely_ ironic and stupid. It was a small book she finished in just a few days, but she absolutely loved it. It was one of those books she could read over and over again without getting bored—_The Catcher in the Rye_ had been the same way, but that book had been banned from school as well.

"_I just want someone to hear what I have to say. And maybe if I talk long enough, it'll make sense."_ Teddy ate as she held the book flat on the table, her eyes glued to the pages even after her sandwich was gone. She jumped when her phone suddenly started vibrating in the pocket of her tight jeans. Sucking in air, she overturned the book and took out her phone.

"_Hallo_?"

"Gooten tag, moan am-ie!" sang Ivy, mispronouncing words as usual.

Eyebrows rising, Teddy counted the hours on her fingers. "Ivy, it's like five in the morning there! Usually, _nine_ is too early for you. What's up?" Teddy was glad to hear from her long-time best friend, but she was also a little confused. Ivy was _not_ a morning person. She once nearly punched Teddy in the face at a sleepover when she made the mistake of trying to wake her up for breakfast.

"I couldn't sleep."

Uh-oh, that was even worse. Ivy _needed_ her beauty rest. However, Ivy's voice was rather chipper, turning Teddy's confusion into curiosity. "What is it?"

"Well, I was going to call earlier, but I don't know what the time difference is. I didn't wake you up or anything, right?"

"Unlike you, I don't sleep past ten. It's a little before eleven here." Teddy took another sip of her juice when Ivy's high-pitched squeal barreled into her ear.

"He proposed!"

Teddy nearly choked on her juice and started coughing. She set the bottle down and patted her chest.

"T, you okay?" Ivy's excitement subsided for a bit.

"Yeah." Teddy's voice was throaty as she coughed again. "Michael proposed? Wow, when?"

"Last night at dinner! We decided to have the wedding in midsummer in Central Park. It's going to be so _romantic_!" Ivy gave another squeal, and Teddy had to hold the phone away from her ear. "Now we just need to find _you_ a new beau."

"Oh, Ivy, not this again," Teddy sighed, taking a few more sips of her juice. Ever since Teddy had gone back to Denver for college (Teddy had left for twenty-seven months to help a group put up schools and orphanages in Peru right after high school), Ivy had been trying to set Teddy up with different guys. Teddy had been somewhat relieved as well as sad when Ivy moved away to New York.

"Yes, again," Ivy said in her I-know-what's-best-and-I'm-gonna-do-this-no-matter-what voice. "Now, I _know_ there's gotta be some cute guys in Europe. And if you say that you saw one at a club or a bar—"

"Bar?" Teddy exclaimed. "What the heck do you think I'm doing here?"

Ivy continued as if not hearing Teddy. "Then I will hop on the first flight to Australia and beat the living daylights out of you."

"_Austria_," Teddy corrected. "Didn't you buy that globe like I told you to?" Teddy smiled, remembering how in high school Ivy was always mixing up countries—the fact that she had never opened up her geography book probably didn't help.

"Hush up." Ivy sounded irritated now. "It's five in the morning here, and I haven't slept in, like, twenty-four hours."

"Well, then, get some sleep. Your shift probably starts in a few hours, right? I know Michael's rich, but I don't think he'll appreciate you quitting your job so soon."

"Fine," Ivy mumbled. "But we're talking about this later!"

Before Teddy could respond, Ivy hung up. "I'll find a guy when I'm ready," she said to the empty room.

In truth, Teddy hadn't had many serious relationships since Spencer. They had decided to cut it off after graduating, deciding that it would be tough to keep up a long distance relationship. He was going to a college in Washington D.C., and Teddy was going to be heading to Peru in just a month. Spencer had suggested that they could still keep in touch and be friends, but Teddy said that it would be best if they just cut it off entirely. Teddy knew that it would just hurt to talk to him and remember all the intimate moments they had and knowing that they couldn't move back that way. Spencer had nodded, and Teddy saw that he had been thinking the same thing. They had been boyfriend and girlfriend far too long for them to be "just friends."

With a frown, Teddy put away her cell and began reading her book to keep her mind from drifting. It didn't work. She thought back to some of the guys Ivy had set her up with. She had stopped seeing about half of them after the first (usually blind) date. Two had cheated on her (and then proceeded to get their butts whipped by Ivy, Allison, Scarlett, or all three), and the others… Teddy just never felt any real sparks.

James had lasted the longest. He was going to the University of Denver along with Teddy and was from Philadelphia, though he had lived in Spain for a while. He had helped Teddy with the bit of Spanish she had picked up in Peru, and he was interested in the world like she was. He was majoring in anthropology, and he and Teddy were an item for almost a year. Teddy had broken it off because she felt like she was leading him on.

"Why can't this be easier?" Teddy thought about earlier in _Fahrenheit 451_ when Clarisse McClellan showed Montag the dandelion, saying that there was a way for them to show if a person was in love. It had showed that Montag wasn't in love, but he had defended that he was. Later, he looked at his wife while she slept and realized that, if she died, he wouldn't cry. Then, he cried; not because he was thinking about her dying, but because he knew that he wouldn't feel bad about it.

That was a little of how it felt with many of those guys Ivy had set her up with. She would go on dates with them, smile, and talk, but, when it came down to it, she had no real feelings for any of them. Teddy had told Ivy to stop setting her up on dates, but Ivy didn't oblige until she moved nearly four months later. But even then, she'd still tell Teddy that she needed to find someone. It was a song Teddy got tired of listening to. She had told Charlie to never feel bad if it felt like she's the only one without a boyfriend. She had told her that with the billions of people in the world, there was too high of a chance of her perfect guy being out there somewhere to just settle for the first guy that flirted with her.

That was a year before Charlie's disappearance. Teddy realized this and set down her book again. For two years, Teddy hadn't been able to give her baby sister advice. She hadn't been able to wish her well on her exams. She hadn't been able to give her a hug or talk to her in Spanish or French (broken and mixed with English on Teddy's end). She hadn't been able to tell her about college or hear how she was enjoying (or how she was managing to survive) junior high. She hadn't been able to comfort Charlie or tell her that everything would be alright. She hadn't been able to fight with her or go through the pros and cons of wringing the girl's neck.

Teddy hadn't looked at Charlie's blog in two years, knowing that it had to have been deleted by now. Charlie had started it when she was eleven, getting information in her e-mail from some chick that called herself Alice White. The information pertained to a group Teddy had never heard of: the Giltebreks.

Charlie had been going to make her blog like a personal journal, but, after reading the e-mails, she had started writing about the Giltebreks. It was a conspiracy theory Teddy had trouble finding anything about, and she had decided that "Alice White" was just some prankster or something. She had tried telling Charlie this, but the preteen had never listened. She kept writing, deciding to also use a pseudonym: Clarisse Winston. Her blog got many comments calling her a joke and that she needed to stop talking like the Giltebreks were real. Charlie had never listened to negativity, only really reading the brief and few comments from people who believed her.

As Charlie kept writing, the numbers of those who believed her words grew (though slightly), but a few of the negatives became harsher and turned into flames. Charlie had never really cared. She had told Teddy that those are honest opinions, and, just because she didn't agree, they shouldn't be erased or silenced. Teddy figured that this attitude came from Teddy forcing Charlie to read _Fahrenheit 451_, _1984_, _Animal Farm_, and _Brave New World_. Charlie hadn't been completely been able to grasp everything (not to mention that she also had to keep a dictionary on her nightstand), but she loved those books nonetheless.

_Now she's gone_. Teddy slumped in her chair. She went through the things she had not done once more, and a tear slid down her cheek. "Charlie… come home. I don't care what's happened. Just come home." Teddy wiped her eyes and stood to look out the window. She leaned against the wall, not trusting that she would be able to keep her balance otherwise. As she stared, Teddy's worry morphed into determination. She stormed out of the kitchen and into her room, slamming the door behind her.

**Smack!** The sketchbook hit her desk with great force when it fell from her hands. Teddy sat down and took out a piece of paper and the notebook with all the clues from the letters. She also took out a world map and marked cities with a red permanent marker. Out of the thirteen, Teddy had only figured out four. She began to get to work, a need to figure out the rest consuming her mind. There had to be a pattern of travel. It couldn't all just be completely random. Even if they (Charlie had never mentioned who was with her—just that there were two) had tried to make it random, a pattern would have to show itself eventually.

"I don't care where you are, Charlie," Teddy whispered to the empty room. "I don't care what's happened. I don't care if I'm in 'danger.' I'll find you. I don't care if I have to fly all over the world _twice_. I swear I'll find you."

**XXX**

She had to be a schizophrenic. Spencer kept telling himself this as he sat in front of Krystle, but he couldn't make himself believe the accusation. She didn't have delusions of grandeur or reference, but she definitely believed this conspiracy to be one-hundred-percent true. She believed she was being followed and watched, and her emerald eyes occasionally darted from place to place. She sometimes had trouble enunciating and stumbled over words as she spoke, and she tended to switch from one topic to another to another and then back to the first one. Still, she normally didn't have a problem with keeping eye contact with Spencer, though it was weird that she seemed almost devoid of emotion, her diamond-shaped face strangely calm and unwavering. Even her eyes tended to stay dull except for every so often when the door opened or some loud noise echoed through the near-empty bar.

The symptoms were there, but it didn't seem like she was suffering from delusions or hallucinations, but Spencer knew from his research (from when he first started working for the magazine) that not all schizophrenics had delusions. It was possible that she was a disorganized schizophrenic, but she seemed to be able to handle daily functions well, such as eating, drinking, and getting to and from the bar on her own. Her speech was coherent enough for Spencer to follow with the minimum amount of questions, she didn't make up words, the little emotion she _did_ show was usually appropriate for the situation, and she tended to be quite logical.

This was the third time Spencer had met with Krystle, and it seemed that she was now trying to convince him that all of this Giltebrek nonsense was absolutely true. She claimed to have been followed and attacked. She told of a horrendous plot that was much worse than the 2012 scare from when they had been in high school.

Taking a sip of her eau-de-vie de mirabelle, Krystle's stream of words ceased for a moment, and she closed her large eyes as she drank, the bangs of her dark brown, almost black hair brushing over her arched eyebrows. She had her hair in a pixie cut, showing off the top of the onyx tattoo that started at the base on the right side of her neck, slipping under the collar of her V-neck blouse. The sleeves of her boyfriend cardigan covered her slender arms, and Spencer noticed that she kept the majority of her too-long bangs brushed to the side so they mostly veiled her left eye.

"Why would they follow you?" asked Spencer. "You said yourself that you're not especially important." His Rauchbier was half-way finished.

Setting down her glass, Krystle moved her head slowly to face Spencer with a steady gaze, chapped lips parted slightly. "I said I was no more important than the others on the same quest as I." Her rough voice stuttered at the end of the sentence as she coughed. "Excuse me. Importance has many definitions. When I said mine was no more than another's, I meant in position, as well as knowledge. Knowledge is harder to gauge, but I have learnt to accept long ago that I can never know all. It took a little longer to accept that I'm an idiot when comparing my knowledge to the collective in the world." She picked up her glass and looked at it for a second before setting it down and meeting Spencer's dark eyes once more. "Alli used to say I was obsessed with learning everything, but 'obsessed' is a strong word, don't you think? I prefer excited.

"What made me special to them though, was the fact I wasn't afraid. I refused to be intimidated. I refused to let their threats get to me. They can't kill me outright. I'm too well-connected for them to just make me disappear like a nobody on the fringes of society. I told you I lived in Denver, yeah? I have for six years. Moved there to be with Alli. There are many important people there. Many only think of New York; Los Angeles; and, of course here when thinking of important individuals. They're in many cities all over the world though, with many occupations—not just occupations wielding power. Those occupations can be useful for those I wish to befriend, however." Her look became thoughtful as she looked away for a moment. "Relation to someone in power gives them a sort of secondary power depending on the relation, though, many times, the power is in their head. It's not so with Gwenyth, but that is what I like about her. Her husband is a congressman, but she isn't the congressman's wife. She's just Gwenyth." Krystle gave a small smile.

"If I die so suddenly, people will notice, and people will investigate—extensively. They're good, but they'd have to lead the trail somewhere, and even if they were to frame someone, the trail would lead to one of their own eventually. So all they can do for now is follow me. Watch me. I haven't done anything yet that is to their distaste except gain knowledge. It is Alli who does all the speaking. She does not have enough patience for the research, whereas I am not loud enough to make people listen. They don't know about her yet, though. At least I think not. She's loud, but she's smart about who she speaks to and what she says." Krystle paused to take another sip of her drink.

Taking advantage of the rest, Spencer asked a question to try and keep her on track: "If your partner does all the talking, then why are you here with me instead of her? Also, last we spoke, you told me that you were a climatologist."

"Correct." Krystle set down her glass again. She then picked it back up and rotated it in a circular motion, watching the small amount of liquid left. She then tossed it back into her mouth before setting down the glass again. "I was in Cairns, Australia mere months ago. You have heard word of the absurd… disintegration?" She thought for a moment. "I believe that's the right word."

She stopped at that, but Spencer already had a pretty good idea of what she was talking about. "You were looking at how the acidity of the oceans—"

"Was affecting marine life," she finished. "The Great Barrier Reef has already shrunk by five inches in the last fifteen years, and it's starting to accelerate despite all of our efforts to lessen our carbon dioxide output." She broke eye contact for a moment. "Usually, simply being 'less bad' isn't good enough."

"_Cradle to Cradle_," remembered Spencer as he tried to write down her statements word for word. He wasn't sure if she had quoted the book exactly, but Spencer remembered that chapter. He had read the book for environmental science in his second year in college, along with _Silent Spring_ and _Now or Never_.

This time, Krystle gave a small smile, but her eyes were still on the bar. "Yes. The Earth can repair itself, but takes much time. It took us only a fraction of the Earth's healing time to create all of those scars."

"What does this have to do with 'them'?" asked Spencer. The short woman sitting on the stool in front of him didn't like him saying the group's name out loud, saying that they were always listening. Her eyes came up suddenly as one of the patrons walked out of the bar, stumbling, and then her eyes flickered over to the bartender.

"Are you going to call the cab service?" she inquired.

"Already done, Tilly." The tall man smiled before going to one of the other tipsy patrons.

After taking another swallow of his drink, Spencer asked again, "What does this have to do with 'them'?" He noticed that he was beginning to run out of paper, so he got out another memo pad from his briefcase.

"Much," replied Krystle, making eye contact again. "Do you remember Hurricane Olivia?"

Everyone in the United States did. "Of course. It hit the entire east coast, all the way up to southeastern Massachusetts. They used to say that it made Katrina look like a rainstorm." Spencer thought for a moment. "You can't _really_ think—"

"I know." Her voice was softer now, and she wasn't blinking. Her pupils had dilated a bit, and Spencer felt a shiver run up his spine. "Yes, it's true. They've found a way to control the weather."

_Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,  
><em>_And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.  
><em>_Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow  
><em>_From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -  
><em>_For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -  
><em>_Nameless here for evermore._

_- "The Raven" (stanza 2) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	5. For the Future, the Unborn

"_Your children tell you casually years later what it would have killed you with worry to know at the time." - Mignon McLaughlin_

Charlie hadn't thought that anything could have been worse than sleeping in that hut. Then Sierra had built a lean-to, and, seconds afterward, it had begun to rain. Sierra had gotten large leaves to use as umbrellas, but she had been more concerned about keeping their bags dry than them. Charlie didn't necessarily mind that; she did not want her laptop and book getting wet. However, having her hair and clothes sticking to her skin and having cool water get into her eyes annoyed her. Charlie had known that she would be giving up some basic comforts when she left with Sierra, but she didn't know that she would be giving up _this_ much comfort. She could say good-bye to luxury—she actually had never thought that she would ever call her house and things 'luxuries'—and just thank Leorensenka that she was still alive. Yet, she still felt like Lecor, Guardian of Rainfall, was playing a joke on them and laughing as he watched their misery.

The brunette was watching the bags, wrapped with layers of broad leaves. She continually re-hatched the roof of the lean-to, her craftsmanship less than stellar. The impatient woman had left a few holes in the roof when she first built it, not taking the time and care she should have, which left her having to work harder to keep up with it than if she had done it right the first time—oh, irony.

Curls soaked to where they almost looked straight, Sierra worked, swearing heavily under her breath. She normally did not use this language when in the presence of Charlie, but she seemed to not care at the moment. She spat every so often when rainwater got into her mouth, and she had glared at Charlie when the girl told her that she wouldn't be choking on rain if she'd just keep her mouth shut.

"Be quiet and fill our canteens" had been her response, looking like she was not in the mood for joking.

Doing as she had been ordered, Charlie thought about the gunshots they had heard earlier. It was clear that it had come from the direction Scarlett had been. Sierra may be a statue sometimes, but she was all too human when it came to her sister. Scarlett had once told Charlie a story from when the two were in high school—before Sierra moved to New York City and Scarlett to Athens:

"_I was a freshie, and I had a junior boyfriend," Scarlet begun, trying very hard not to laugh. "Well, he dumped me one day in a note—a _note_!—that he passed to me on my way to algebra. Well, I cried for about half of that class, and someone told Sierra." She looked over to her chortling sister. "So, two periods later, I'm in the computer lab, and my ex is going to his locker, which is down the hall. Suddenly, I hear Sierra stomp into the hallway, the opposite side from where my ex was. People are parting, just knowing that blood's gonna be shed. I look up from my computer at the sudden silence, and then all of a sudden, I hear,_

"'_HEY! JACKASS!'_

"_And I'm just thinking, 'Ooh, someone's gonna die, and it _ain't_ gonna be Sea.' I poked my head out the door and saw her with murder in her eyes, and my ex had turned around, his eyes big as dinner plates. Everyone turns to her, him, her, him, and all of them were probably wondering if they should call the principal, the police, or the morgue._

"_Then, Sierra keeps shouting, 'WHAT PART OF "I GOT A GUN, A SHOVEL, AND NINE ACRES OF LAND" DID YOU NOT COMPREHEND?'_

"_Then _my_ eyes go wide, and this jock looks at my ex and screams, 'RUN, DUDE, RUN!'" Scarlett guffawed, but when she pulled herself together, she continued, "And, boy, did he _run_. I never knew fear could make you that fast. He was like a racehorse pumped with steroids."_

"_What happened to him?" Sitting on the couch of the small apartment, Charlie was holding _Animal Farm_ in her lap._

"_Unfortunately," broke in Sierra through her laughter, "Three coaches had gotten to me before I could tear him limb from limb, and I got alternative school for three weeks." She saw Charlie's raised eyebrows and explained, "I gave Coach Mills a black eye trying to get away and kill the idiot, who was taking refuge in one of the history classrooms."_

With a smile touching her lips, Charlie returned to the present, finding Sierra crouching in a Thinker-like pose in front of her. Her turquoise eyes were soft, and her lips were a straight line. Curls were plastered to her small forehead, flushed cheeks, neck, and shoulders; her clothes hung over her body, the fabric becoming heavy with water. She blinked away some rain drops that had been clinging to her eyelashes. Her head was tilted slightly as she inquired, "What are you thinking about? 'Cause you're creeping me out, smiling like that in a situation like this."

That comment made Charlie's smile grow a degree, making Sierra raise an eyebrow. Looking at the ground, Charlie answered, "I was thinking about a story you and Scarlett told me."

"Divines know there are plenty of those," Sierra laughed. "Three solstices ago, Scarlett and I visited our parents with our husbands and Scarlett's two munchkins. We were talking about memories we shared, and Scarlett let it slip about when she came to visit me in New York City—this was a few months before that huge earthquake, by the way. She told them about how I got myself absolutely _hammered_ and needed her and my friend Nicole to drag my stumbling butt to my apartment. Well, just my luck, a police officer stops us, and, of course, he knows we're all underage. So he has us stand along a wall, and I just say, 'What? We're there already?' I then proceeded to get my key out from my pocket and jammed it into his arm." Sierra paused, lowering her head to where her hand covered her eyes. "The motion made me fall flat on my face, and the officer helps me up.

"'Guess I don't have to do a sobriety test' is what I think he said, shaking his head. I don't remember a whole lot of what he looked like, but I saw two of him, three if he moved. I remember that he had dark brown eyes and hair maybe, but that's not important. Anyway, I just had this silly grin on my face.

"I giggled and said, 'You're hot. You know, I'll be legal in just five months.' I think his eyes went wide, Scarlett was mortified, and Nicole was using every _ounce_ of self-discipline she had not to laugh. I just kept talking though, as the officer held my arm to make sure I didn't fall. 'I think the party's still going on down on Baltic Street,' I said, and I think I pointed in the general direction. 'These two sticks-in-the-mud are trying to drag me home.'

"The officer then asked, 'How much did you have to drink at this party?'

"And I replied, 'Just a few beers, some Jell-O shots, and some kind of weird drink. No one told me what it was, but I liked it.' I leaned in close and fell, making him catch me. I think I passed out or something at that point, because, the next thing I knew, it was morning, I had a killer headache, and Scarlett was getting back at me by turning on all the lights, the stereo at the highest volume, and throwing a bucket of ice water at my face to wake me up. I woulda killed her if I could see straight." Sierra laughed, covering her mouth to muffle the sound. When she calmed down, she continued, "And when Scarlett was done telling the story, little Ryan looked confused, Seán and Ekon were laughing their heads off, and Mom and Dad were staring at me in shock.

"'You did _what_?' It didn't matter that I was twenty-seven—Mom woulda beat me as if I were a grounded teenager who had just snuck back into the house. She didn't, but that was what I had expected—my whole life, I never expected less. Ekon gave Scarlett a high-five for splashing me with cold water. Seán was going to, but I smacked him in the head before he could."

"You have a _very_ interesting family," Charlie giggled. She calmed herself down and then moved aside so that Sierra could get out of the rain. "It got lonely at my house lots of times, mostly just during the weekdays. Even though I have two brothers and a sister, they were all already either out of the house or just doing their own thing, so I was mostly alone."

"Hmm," Sierra leaned back as far as she was able, "I would have hated being an only child. It was so lonely in New York with Abigail and Jonathon. Sure, they were nice. They're family—distant family, but still family—but Jonathon worked a night shift at a hospital, and Abigail was usually hauled up in her office all day. There was no one to interrupt me while I tried to study, no one to switch the CD in the stereo to that New Age-ie crap, no one to call me a know-it-all or smartass, and no one to argue my points of view with. Well, the last one I could do at school, but it wasn't the same as arguing with Scarlett. Plus, she respected my views. A lot of the people I debated with in AP Government started calling me 'Heartless Bitch.' Scarlett would have defended me and kicked their butts, just like I would her."

Sierra wasn't meeting Charlie's eyes. She seemed to be looking towards the forest canopy, but Charlie could tell that she wasn't even there with her anymore—not mentally. It was the same sort of look Charlie tended to get when remembering the times she spent with Teddy. Their times may not have been wild like the Thompson sisters, but they still had so much fun. They would talk, shop, just hang out, and help each other when the other had a problem. Neither person could be replaced. Charlie may be able to talk and hang out with Sierra or Scarlett, but it just wasn't the same as being with Teddy.

"I miss her," Charlie whispered.

"I bet she misses you too," Sierra replied. "She should be fine. She's in Vienna, right?"

Charlie nodded.

"That's a safe city. One of my friends once went there as part of an exchange program. When she got to the school, she asked her host sister where all the security and metal detectors were, and she just looked at my friend like she was an alien speaking some weird language." Sierra gave a small smile. "Seán said that it was like that at his high school too—safe."

"You miss him." Charlie looked back at Sierra and smiled. She had seen a picture of Seán. He was just a couple of years older than Sierra, had full lips curved in a lop-sided smile, Roman nose, stunning green eyes, and long-ish dirty blond hair. His sharply pointed ears had shown him to be an Elf, and Sierra had told Charlie that she had met Seán when she went back to Kornan to visit her parents.

"Like a tree misses its leaves in the winter. I never thought I would have used a phrase as cheesy-sounding as 'soul mates,' but that's what we are. There's no other way to describe it." Sierra smirked. "It's funny… It wasn't until the fourth time he asked me to marry him that I agreed, and only because Scarlett had pulled me aside and shouted, 'Look, Sea. In eighth grade, you made me promise to beat you over the head with a metal bat if you ever did something stupid in your love life. Now, that man out there is the best thing to ever happen to you, and if you let him get away, then I'm dragging you down to that batting cage two blocks away to keep my promise.'"

Charlie sighed, her eyelids beginning to feel heavy. Sierra saw this and whispered, "Go on to sleep. I'll keep an eye out and wake you up in a couple of hours."

"But—"

"Nuh-uh. I can't have you stumbling around, nearing unconsciousness if something happens, now can I? Go on to sleep. And no griping about sleeping in mud. Trust me, it could be worse."

Forcing a smile, Charlie nodded and curled up near Sierra. _Yeah, like we could be dead._

**xxx**

It was when the sun was high that the rain finally stopped. Charlie and Sierra had begun to tear apart the lean-to, Sierra saying how it would be way too easy to track them if they just left everything the way it was. As they worked, Charlie got another coating of mud on her boots and the hem of her jeans, but she had gotten most of the mud out of her hair and off of her clothes when she washed up in the rain that morning. She left her hair down now, the scrunchie hugging her right wrist. She and Sierra tossed the leaves and sticks, trying to make them look as if they had always been there. Sierra then unwrapped the leaves from the bags and threw the vines up into the tree branches. Charlie took her pack, and the two set out once again.

"I thought the truth was supposed to set you free," Charlie murmured after a few hours, unable to put up with the silence any longer. Her stomach felt empty again (the few bites of trail mix had done nothing to sate her hunger), and she was tired. That combination put Charlie on edge, but, no matter how many times she tried to soften it, the ever-rising paranoia made it sharp once more.

"Tell that to my mom," Sierra muttered. "Whenever I told the truth as a kid, I got in trouble." She heaved a sigh as she looked ahead, gun out as she strained her ears, listening for any stray movement. "Knowledge may be power, but it's a numbers game. Always has been. Sure, you get your wild cards that can throw everything outta whack, but they're rare. They also have facts to back them up. We have facts, but so does the group we're up against. They also have money and power. Many of them are looked on kindly by the general public. It makes it easy for them to get rid of nobodies like us."

"Someone had come up to me and offered me a lot of money to go on my blog and tell everyone that everything I said about the Giltebreks was for some story I'm working on and stop adding more articles. I was then to delete it several months to a year later." Charlie recalled the man that had spoken to her after school one day. It was after her tenth blog post when more people had begun to either believe or acknowledge certain truths in her blog. "Sometimes I think it would have been better to just take the money and do what he asked. It would have been safer for both me and my family."

"'Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety,'" Sierra replied, quoting Benjamin Franklin. "I've felt the same way, Charlie. So has Scarlett, our husbands, and our parents and grandparents. We're not dead yet, though, and we won't be silent until we are. The Giltebreks is a small group—only two-hundred-fifty with several-hundred to a little over one-thousand workers. There are _billions_ upon _billions_ of people in the universe. All we have to do is stand up, and they back down. Unfortunately, there aren't enough of us with knowledge, and a bunch of mindless zombies work for the Giltebreks, actually believing that their vision is best for us all—that or they just want security, thinking the Giltebreks can't lose. Silver Wing only officially has a little under three-hundred agents. We have to gather up people. That's what Isabelle Kirkland had tried to do before she was executed."

"Alice White," Charlie whispered, remembering those e-mails. "Why me?" This had already been answered before, but Charlie could not help but ask every so often. Sierra and Scarlett did not mind reminding her of the answer. It seemed to help motivate the young girl some whenever she heard it. Spirit and determination seemed to be the only weapons in their arsenal sometimes.

"She sent them to over one-_thousand_ people. Only a few-hundred or so actually read them, around two-hundred started posting information about the Giltebreks on their blogs, message boards, or whatever, and only between sixty and seventy of those blogs are still up—including yours. Most had decided to take the money and tell the public it was all a joke. Others refused and were hunted down as you are now." Sierra sighed. "I really wish I could get you onto a different planet. It'd be easier to escape them. Unfortunately, security is _way_ too good these days—even better than the planes here. We could be caught instantly. Just creating those fake passports was enough to make my heart race. Heck, it still races whenever we approach an airport. Why do you think we usually just take ships, trains, or cars?"

Nodding, Charlie stared ahead. She waited for Sierra to continue.

"Ignorance may be bliss, Charlie, but it's fake and will lead to their ultimate death. Knowledge may be misery in the beginning, but it's _real_. It may not seem like it right now, but we're saving lives. Writing your blog entries, reading over documents Ekon or Seán had stolen… it doesn't seem like a whole lot now, but we need to increase our numbers before we can fight them off. We have to get people to _care_. Get them out of the traps they call comfort zones. Someone I met some time ago looked over a balcony at all the people walking down the street and said, 'No eyes to see or ears to hear; no minds to think or ambitions to care.' She has dedicated her life to giving those poor souls eyes and ears, but she realized that they first needed ambition to set goals. They then needed minds to question and think through the paths and find the best one. Only then can they be granted their eyes and ears."

"And you expect me, a fourteen-year-old girl to help? It seems to me like you and Scarlett could do this without me."

"Yeah, we probably could." Sierra's bluntness didn't help Charlie's self-esteem at all, but it was welcome nonetheless. "But you're the one with the blog people read and, more so than you think, generally agree with. You're the one with the flair with words. You're able to manipulate the English language and turn it to force your message into the minds of your readers in a way that is both pleasing and memorable. Even if they don't agree, at least a few of your words stick with them until they can't take it anymore and have to read another one of your entries. Why do you think I've been pushing poetry at you so much those first few months? Why do you think I forced you to look at Poe and Shakespeare even though I don't necessarily like either one? Poe was a _master_ at manipulating words into what he wanted. I showed you that with a number of his poems and short stories. He knew how to get into your head. That's what you're doing, just not with pits, cats, and hidden bodies. Shakespeare was a master with emotion. You're able to pull at heartstrings and rouse certain feelings to make people want to act. All Scarlett and I do is protect you and deliver information stolen by our hubbies."

Charlie could not help but smile, though she bit it back. "What about Ryan and Fallow? They're five and three, right?"

"Fallow's almost four." Sierra smiled, eyes alit with pride. "Mom and Dad are watching the munchkins. It's just for a little longer while we wait for it to cool off enough that you don't need such high-end protection. The Giltebreks should get bored with you soon. Like you said: You're just a fourteen-year-old girl. With the change in power in Silver Wing and even more powerful members making themselves known, I'm pretty sure that their focus will leave you and some of the other teen bloggers and move towards them."

"And if you're wrong?" Charlie looked up at the tall woman.

Swallowing, Sierra hesitated. "Pray to the Divines I'm not."

_Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  
><em>_Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  
><em>_It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.  
><em>_We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,  
><em>_talented and fabulous?  
><em>_Actually, who are you not to be?  
><em>_You are a child of God.  
><em>_Your playing small does not serve the world.  
><em>_There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other  
><em>_people won't feel insecure around you.  
><em>_We were born to make manifest the glory of  
><em>_God that is within us.  
><em>_It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.  
><em>_And as we let our own light shine,  
><em>_we unconsciously give other people  
><em>_permission to do the same.  
><em>_As we are liberated from our own fear,  
><em>_Our presence automatically liberates others._

_- "Our Greatest Fear" by Marianne Williamson_


	6. A Southerly Wind

**_The motto of Paris is in Latin and translates as "He who rises with the wave is not swallowed by it."_**

"_Fluctuat nec mergitur." - Motto of Paris_

"_She's not crazy, you know."_

Those had been the words of Mr. Florez after Krystle left, keeping her usual posture and quick stride despite the three fruit brandies in her system. It had been another trait that had made Spencer suspect her sanity (or lack thereof). Ninety-percent of schizophrenics were said to be smokers, but some were, instead, heavy drinkers or even abused medication. Yet, that statement by the bartender had thrown Spencer off somewhat. It had already been obvious that he knew the thirty-three-year-old woman, but right then, Spencer realized that Mr. Florez was actually friends with her. How? Krystle had said that she didn't come to Washington D.C. often, and she had once said (while getting off-topic) that she used to live in some town called Llandeilo. Did she really have such a large connection of friends and acquaintances as she had said?

"_Do you believe everything she says?"_ _Spencer questioned as he put away his memo pads and pens._

"_I can see why you'd doubt her." Mr. Florez began to clean one of the glasses. "When a person challenges things we believe we know to be true, we label them to rationalize. We try to make them sound like they don't know what they're saying so we can still believe what we believe." His dark eyes met Spencer's. "But Tilly is one of the sanest people I've met. She doesn't like to lie, and she's passionate in what she does—determined to see wrongs made right. This world needs more people like that."_

That was something Spencer hadn't been able to argue with, and he walked over to the kitchen to get a mug of coffee as well as something to help his headache. Spencer was normally able to handle drinking alcohol pretty well—his parents used to let him have champagne at New Year's and half a glass of red wine, saying that it was good for health—but it was only now just morning in Spencer's definition. The sun had just started to rise, but Spencer was unable to go back to sleep, so he decided to just get an early start on the day.

"_Whenever she's in the city," explained Mr. Florez, "she comes here, has some brandy, whisky, or a special blend she has given me the recipe for, and we talk. She stays with a friend here, but I think she and her partner—lovely woman; I met her once—are the only ones who willingly stay awake at this hour. So she's usually one of the only ones here. It takes a while, but she warms up to people. I can see that she's beginning to really trust you. You should trust her."_

Mr. Florez had told Spencer a little about Kyrstle—"What I can tell you without disturbing her privacy"—such as that she had two sisters and three brothers. Krystle was the eldest, and Boudicca was a year younger than she was. Those two had been very close, according to Mr. Florez, until a horrible tragedy when Krystle was nineteen. He didn't specify, but Spencer was able to guess what had happened.

He remembered hearing about Charlie Duncan's disappearance from Robert. Was something like this going to happen to Teddy? She was already easily stressed and could turn angry or upset on a dime. Spencer couldn't stand the thought of her going crazy, but if something small like Spencer telling her she can't dance made her upset, then what did Charlie's disappearance do to her? Teddy had always been the happy-go-lucky ray of sunshine—someone sent to the Earth to make people smile. Sometimes, Spencer had thought that she could be the live form of an anti-depressant. All she'd have to do is walk into the room to chase away those negative feelings. Did all that go away with one dreadful tragedy?

It couldn't have. There was no way. As he thought this, Spencer went back to his nightstand, getting out the scrapbook. The rose had been added by a stencil, custom-made by a friend of Teddy's. The whole thing had been designed by Teddy, given to Spencer two weeks before graduation—three weeks before their breakup. Now, Spencer's smile was bittersweet as he turned to the first page, labeled **Making Paradise in Denver's Penitentiary**. On that page, only seven wallet-sized pictures fit, along with some stickers and captions hand-written in blue and green gel ink. They were all of Teddy, Spencer, and friends at school, just like the next four pages.

There were a couple of pictures of Spencer and Teddy kissing, one of them with Emmett in the background, glaring at Spencer as if hoping his gaze alone could murder the taller man holding his object of affections. Another picture showed them being broken apart by Mrs. Torres, who had her trusty ruler in hand. Another picture showed Mrs. Torres measuring Teddy's skirt (even though she also wore stockings), and Spencer was shown standing behind her, trying not to laugh.

The next five pages showed dances—before, during, and after. Prom was on the final two pages of that section. The theme had been 'Worlds Collide', which had everything with fire and ice or sky and sea. Teddy had gotten excited about the theme, her strapless dress with the corset top and long, silky scarf that covered her shoulders and cascaded down to tie around her waist incorporating fire, ice, the sky, and the sea in a beautiful way. The dress had been made by her grandmother, and Spencer remembered hearing Teddy say that it had taken _weeks_ to make.

Spencer stared at the dress, so flamboyant compared to his simple, white tuxedo. He hadn't been as excited about prom compared to Teddy, but, upon seeing her in that dress as her dad spied from the kitchen, it had seemed like everything had opened up in front of him. The dimples that came with that magnificent smile of hers made him smile as well as he imagined how wonderful their night would be. It had actually been much better than he had imagined, but not at the dance—Prom stunk.

Right then, Spencer had learned that the "magical night where dreams come true" Prom only happened in movies. In actuality, their Prom had really nice decorations made by the drama and art departments, but there were too many intoxicated people for his taste, and the ball room hadn't been able to hold them _and_ the party crashers. It had been before and after the Prom with Teddy, Ivy, Raymond, Tina, PJ, Nina, and Emmett that had been the most fun. After ditching the last two hours of Prom, the eight had gone to IHOP. They had been a sight, eating pancakes and daring PJ to finish off a whole container of syrup while wearing formal clothing, but it had been so much fun.

The last page of that section showed them at the near-empty restaurant, all the pictures either taken by Teddy or Ivy—except one, which Raymond had the waitress take. Laughing, Spencer looked at him and Teddy toasting their large cups of limited edition flavored coffee as Raymond kissed Ivy on the cheek. Tina was kissing some of the maple syrup off of PJ's lips, and Emmett had his arms over Nina's shoulders.

After looking through the scrapbook, Spencer closed it before placing it back into the drawer. He then went back to his cup of coffee, thinking about everything that had been going on since high school. Life was crazy, and nothing made complete sense. Sometimes, Life even just took sense, glanced at it, and then tore it up before making up its own version of it.

Spencer got out two pills and popped them into his mouth, washing them down with coffee. He sat down at the desk as he waited for the pain killers to work, thinking about all this craziness and talk of tragedy. Spencer was an only child, but almost all of his friends had siblings. He smiled, remembering how he used to say that he'd love having a little brother or sister.

Julian or Robert used to just instantly reply, "Want mine?"

Still, despite all of the fights and pranks, Spencer could tell that his friends loved their siblings. Nate was a younger brother, and Spencer remembered how his sister, Donna, would hit him. Yet, Donna would also threaten anyone else who tried to hurt Nate—he was _her_ punching bag and no one else's.

There'd been much less fighting between Teddy and Charlie, though the fact that they were fifteen years apart probably had something to do with it. Spencer may not know personally what it's like to lose someone so close and dear, but he could imagine what it was like to have one of his best friends suddenly disappear or even die. It must be absolutely horrible, leaving a hollow feeling. He didn't know the specifics of the death of Boudicca, but if it was what set off Krystle, then it had to have been horrible.

_As Spencer left the bar, Mr. Florez made a whistling sound that made Spencer turn back to look at him as he pushed against the door. "Good Luck, Mr. Fadeyka."_

**XXX**

Out of all modes of transportation, Charlie absolutely _loathed_ ships and boats. It wasn't that she was afraid of the water (she used to love swimming). It's just that she was afraid of the ocean—big difference. Water by itself wasn't scary. The ocean, on the other hand, could be just as merciless as it was beautiful. Those dark waters harbored secrets whispered about the creatures as they went about, passing down stories of sunken ships, crashed planes, and lost lives. The waves would seem harmless enough at first, but the ocean could make one—just one—wave large enough to knock them all into the abyss in less than a second, cackling all the while. Charlie's heart thudded as she and Sierra had boarded the ship. The breeze teased her hair, giggling at the fear so obvious in her eyes.

The motion never helped to ease Charlie's worries. She needed solid ground. Even riding a mule on a ledge high up a cliff had felt safer than being on a ship. As they walked down the deck to head for the stairs leading down to the rooms, Charlie clung onto Sierra's arm. The woman looked down at her and blinked, surprised. Her eyes softened, her own fears and anxiety melting away from her mind as she saw the young girl that had been through way too much. Sierra got her arm out of Charlie's vice-like grip and put it over her shoulders to bring her close. She didn't have to say anything. The way Charlie's muscles eased under her touch showed that Charlie knew that Sierra wasn't going to let anything happen. Upon getting that message, Sierra's heart felt heavy.

Throughout her life, Sierra had never wanted kids. She was never cut out for baby-sitting and instead mowed lawns and washed cars for extra money before she was old enough for a part-time job. She had never been the type of person to tiptoe around things or offer words that she believed to be false hope. Her attitude had always been, "If you can't handle the truth, then find a rock, get under it, and leave the rest of us the hell alone. The world ain't gonna coddle you, so don't ask me to."

Most of her friends had described her as an "acquired taste". She could have her moments where people could lean on her, but she wasn't the type of person people could go and cry to. It annoyed her, and Sierra always had a hard time refraining from telling them, "Look, just get over it. Suck it up!" She had learned to get more sensitive over the years, but she still remained the woman who wore armor over her arms to hide her heart.

Scarlett was the mother, not her. Seán had respected that, but now, Sierra was expected to take care of a young teen—a _child_. She may be in puberty, but she was still a child. Sierra had often heard her crying at night, alone in the bathroom. Scarlett had told her that Charlie would come to them. Sierra, on the other hand, had been getting impatient. She had just wanted to break down the door, shake Charlie by the shoulders, and _force_ her to talk to them.

She actually almost had once, but Scarlett had held her back. Sierra had listened to her (miraculously), but who would be there to hold her back this time? Sierra was a protector, not a nurturer. Unfortunately, the two traits usually had to be packaged together—that was what she had Scarlett for, and that was what she had married Seán for. Even if she _had_ decided to have children, Seán would have been the one to hold them when they were crying, and Sierra would be out, threatening or mortally wounding the source of her kids' troubles.

Once in the cabin, Sierra threw her bags onto one of the beds as Charlie just dropped her backpack onto the floor, looking as if her mind were far away, trying to find a place to keep her calm. It looked like that meditation exercise Sierra had told Charlie about a little over a year ago:

"First, think about a place you've been that gave you so much comfort. For me, it was this spot under an aspen tree in the garden back in Kornan. Next, picture one person—just one—that you love unconditionally and whom you just could never live without. Both of you are in this place, and, all the while, just take deep, slow breaths. Feel your muscles relax and the tension ebb away." Sierra had told Charlie this when she couldn't sleep. It was a few minutes after Charlie had left the bathroom, crying again. Charlie probably hadn't known that Sierra had been listening, heart twisting at not being able to do anything for the poor, traumatized girl. Sierra, at times, had wanted to beat herself up, angry at what she was, and was not, doing.

Charlie curled up on the other bed, never blinking. Her arms were bent over her chest, and her knees came up to her wrists, as if protecting her arms. Her fine hair covered part of her body like a veil, including a fourth of her face. Her lips were a straight line, and her lids would flutter but never slide over her glassy orbs. Sierra stared at her for a moment and sighed before turning around to dig in Scarlett's backpack.

"Hungry?"

No answer.

She bit her lip for a moment, and Sierra brought out the rest of the trail mix. "There's not much left, but we should be able to stock up here on the ship. Sorry if the chocolate's melted." She placed the plastic bag on the table at the head of Charlie's bed, which ran the length of that pale wall. "And I know you don't like raisins, but you need all the iron, vitamins, potassium, and calories you can get."

"I'm not hungry." Charlie's voice was so soft, Sierra hadn't been sure she had even spoken at first. She turned to face her.

"Your growling stomach begs to differ. Come on, you'll get dizzy with all this lack of food and sleep."

"I'm used to it."

Sierra hesitated. It was true that Charlie had whined about not liking certain foods or being tired the first few weeks, but, afterwards, she had never complained. Not once. There had been a time or two where she made a face at a certain dish—like the lutefisk in Sweden—or when she looked just about ready to collapse from exhaustion, but she seemed determined to push herself to meet the impossible standards she had set. Sierra saw that neither she nor Scarlett had been much help with that. They hadn't read too much into it. They had just thought she was adjusting to the crazy lifestyle—if one had lost enough sanity to actually _call_ it a lifestyle.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_, Sierra growled in her mind. _How could we have expected _anyone_ to adjust to _this_ kind of life? Dammit, we're such _idiots_!_ Sierra looked down as she bit the inside of her cheek. "You're a very strong girl, Charlie."

"I had to be." Charlie finally blinked. The movement was quick and harsh, as if blinking back tears. "Running for your life makes you grow up." There was a crack in her voice Sierra barely caught. Even _she_ felt like shedding a tear. She had to tell her!

_No_, she thought bitterly, hating herself. _Not now._ "Maybe a little too fast." Sierra's voice was softer now. Her voice was always a pitch or so lower than that of the average woman, but it always fell over people's ears like silk—unless she was yelling.

"Fast enough." She blinked twice more, her lids seeming to flutter and hesitate before unveiling her wide-set eyes, which shimmered like sun off of water. "I can't be a kid going through shit like this."

"Hey," Sierra scolded in a light tone, treating Charlie like fragile china, "I don't appreciate that sort of language."

"Like you're one to talk." The corner of Charlie's mouth twitched upward, but she pulled it back down.

The ghost of a smile touched Sierra's lips when she saw Charlie begin to relax, even if it was just a tiny bit. "Yeah, well, I drink too, but you ain't gonna be doing that either."

It became harder for Charlie to not smile. "So there's a certain age I have to be to start cussing?"

"Yeah, you didn't know? There's some countries—and some states back home—that have laws against public profanity."

"Even here?"

"Do I really look like the kind of person that would take extra time to study Kenyan law?"

"You look like the kind of person that would study anything written in a book, newspaper, magazine, or webpage." Charlie began to unbend her legs, but she stayed in a lying position. "Besides, of all the places in the world to visit, why'd Scarlett choose Kenya?"

"Hey, _I've_ taken you to some nice places. Remember Paris?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd be in a café across from the Eiffel Tower. Instead, I end up under the hot, Texan sun, eating fried rattlesnake."

"You _liked_ it."

"You told me it was chicken and didn't tell me it was snake until two days later." Charlie had already decided that she would probably never understand the humor of her guardians, though it had only been Sierra with Charlie at that time. Scarlett had still been in Denver and was going to join them in St. Petersburg.

"You still liked it." Sierra was smiling now as she shook her head. "At least _your_ food wasn't moving. Some years ago, Seán takes me to South Korea and refuses to let me leave the table until I finish my bowl of sannakji."

Charlie made a face. "I don't even want to know what that is. I _still_ can't eat gelatin, by the way."

Sierra allowed a short, sharp breath that sounded like the beginnings of a laugh. "Amazing how people can love food until they figure out what's in it. I still like balut and chitlins. Sannakji isn't all that bad, but I prefer my food to not be wiggling down my throat when I swallow." She caught Charlie's wide eyes. "I didn't bite down hard enough."

"Okay, now I'm _really_ not hungry." Charlie held back a giggle, but she suddenly made a sound that sounded like a cross between a squeak and a shriek when the ship shuddered. She hugged her knees up to her chest, eyes squeezed shut. "Mommy…" Memories flooded into her mind at lightning speed:

"_Mommy!" Charlie screamed before water filled her mouth. _Mommy! Help me!

"_Charlie? Charlie! No! My baby! Bob! Call for help!" Her mom's frantic words were muffled in Charlie's ears as the current dragged her down once more._

Mommy! Mommy!_ Charlie could not speak. Cold water choked away the little air she had took in when screaming for help. The fierce current sent her tumbling farther and farther away from the shore. Her eyes were open, but they may as well have been closed. She had no idea which way was up, or which way was down. The darkness enclosed around her as the skeletal hands of the cold gripped her arms and legs, slowly climbing upward. Her heartbeat began to slow, and her eyelids grew heavy. The cold crept up her skin, and the fear spinning through her mind gradually turned into a trickle of incomplete thoughts. _Ducky… Water… Pull… Mommy help… I … Sleepy… Good… Love…

_It was no longer cold. The rushing water was now like a lullaby as Charlie opened her mouth, not even thinking when she sucked in the water as if it were sweet oxygen._

Mind back in the present, Charlie's eyes ripped open. Her sudden intake of air was a gasp, dots of tears stinging her eyes. Sierra was at her side, gently pulling her up into an embrace. Charlie held herself tightly, a tremor in her muscles. She shivered as the boat moved away from the shore, and Charlie wanted to leap back towards the land. She hated the ocean. It had the veneer of calmness, setting sights for beauty and romance. Charlie knew that it was actually a monster, hungry for blood and indifferent to the sacrifices that fell into its grasp.

"I'm so cold…," Charlie whispered. "So cold."

Sierra held the trembling girl more tightly, rubbing her arms. "Shh… You wanna talk about it?"

Charlie shook her head vigorously. Talking about it would just make it worse. She'd just start bawling if—

"Talk to me, Charlie." Sierra ordered, but then cleared her throat and tried to soften her voice. "I know I'm not your mom or sister, but I'm the only one that's here right now. Look, let's make a deal: You start talking, and I'll try to be sensitive." She offered a smile, which was not returned, and she then raised an eyebrow. "I got ways of making your talk now."

"I don't want to—"

"No, but it's obvious you _need_ to." Sierra leaned in close to meet Charlie's eyes. "So are you going to do this willingly or not? 'Cause either way, you're _gonna_ talk."

Eyes locked with Sierra's, Charlie was unable to look away. Just that gaze was more than enough without words to back it up. Finally, Charlie broke the hold and looked down. "I was four, and my mom, dad, brother Gabe, and I went to Delaware to visit my Great-aunt Margret. She was really sick, and one morning, my mom and dad took me to the nearby beach…"

_And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain  
><em>_Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;  
><em>_So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating  
><em>'_Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -  
><em>_Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -  
><em>_That it is, and nothing more.'_

_- "The Raven" (stanza 3) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	7. Resurgam

**_Feel free to correct me on the Latvian in the first part of the chapter and the German in the later part of it. I don't speak either one, so I had to rely on Google translate._**

"_When you look at your life, the greatest happinesses are family happinesses." - Joyce Brothers_

Amy had gotten used to the too-clean halls and rooms as well as the smell of antiseptic over the years, but she could still feel empathy for the young children kicking their feet nervously or looking every which way as their parents tried to make them calm once again. The waiting areas were nearly full, many of the parents wanting the required check-ups and vaccinations for the next school year over with. It was something Amy remembered having to go through with her children. All of them had to be tricked the first several years, but they soon got over it and were willing to walk into the examining room without a fight (well, except for PJ, but he had always been a special case). The cries from the younger children and the tired coos of the new parents also brought about a feeling of nostalgia to Amy as she left the room and went back to the front desk of the family center for a new file. She remembered how unready she had felt with PJ. She remembered thinking late into the night how she had a human's life and future in her hands. Would she be able to guide him down the right path? Or would the negative words of outside forces drown her out in his ears?

It was such a relief now, seeing him as a successful teacher. It showed Amy had she had done right. She had done right with all of her children. She had been terrified upon receiving that call when Gabe was in high school. She had been angry, hurt, regretful, sad, and guilt-ridden. Those emotions had washed over her as she and Bob had rushed to the police station with little Charlie asleep in the back seat of the bug truck. Gabe had been negative for drugs, and his BAC had been under point-zero-two. Still, he had shown poor judgment, and both Bob and Amy had had enough of his crap at that point.

Yet, he had turned out alright. He was even studying criminology, and Amy grabbed a file from her stack as she remembered sending him off to college. After giving a polite nod to Ella, Amy read the name. Her smile fell as a dart seemed to ricochet within her already-broken heart. Sometimes in felt like the delicate organ wasn't made of flesh—rather, it seemed to be crafted by thin glass created by lighting hitting sand over and over again. Her heart was easy to break, and the splintering shards made it nearly impossible for it to be put back together exactly as it once was. Some of the shards felt like they were puncturing her lungs and had somehow flowed up into her throat, but Amy had learned to ignore the pain by this point. It took only a second for her to turn her pink lips up back into a smile as she looked over into the waiting area, immediately finding that thick mound of russet curls that had been messily placed into an off-center bun.

"Jasmine Balodis." Amy was probably one of the few nurses here that could pronounce the hazel-eyed girl's name correctly, but it was only because she had been reminded of how to say it about ten times in the past.

Immediately, the girl looked up from her book—some Japanese comic by the looks of it—and offered a small smile before getting to her feet. Her mother, Igna, followed not far behind, but Amy's eyes were on Jasmine as the fourteen-year-old girl slid the book into her purse without bothering to mark the page. Some of the curls had fallen out of the bun kept in place by two pencils, and they bounced over her long neck as she walked.

"'Morning, Mrs. Duncan," she greeted in her high-pitched voice. She went through the door Amy opened, stopping on the other side to wait for her and Igna, who stood about half-a-foot taller than Amy.

"Good morning, Amy," said the woman with a slight accent Amy wouldn't have been able to place correctly without knowing beforehand that she was originally from Latvia. Igna had her strawberry blonde hair cut short, and her hazel-green eyes were hard but kind. "How are you doing today?"

"Just fine," Amy replied as she led the two down the hall and into an empty exam room. "Jasmine, sit up here, and, Igna, you can sit in one of those chairs over there." Amy motioned to the two chairs near the now-closed door that sat right in front of the examining table Jasmine propped herself up on. "How are you two doing?"

"I think Jasmine is going to spend all of our money on those comics of hers," joked Igna.

"Mamma!" Jasmine exclaimed. "I'm not that bad, and at least I read most of them online instead of buying them." Jasmine moved one of the renegade curls so Amy could check her ear with the otoscope.

"Yes," said Igna knowingly, "in class when you should be learning." She brushed her too-long bangs out of her small eyes.

Amy chuckled as Jasmine's freckled cheeks began to take on a red hue that almost rivaled her hair. After checking Jasmine's ears, Amy inquired, "Well, at least she's reading _something_. At this age, Gabe and PJ avoided books like they were rats carrying the black plague." Both mothers gave a laugh as Jasmine rolled her eyes, allowing the nurse to check her throat. "Has anything been going on I should know about?"

"Well—"

"Mamma, don't!" Jasmine whined, crossing those thin arms over her flat chest. She stopped swinging her thin legs, which stuck out of the khaki shorts she wore with a dark green tank top. Amy smiled at the faded **Go Green!** logo on it. It looked like another hand-me-down from her older cousin. Amy also smiled, noticing a white strap sticking out from under the cloth touching her freckle-kissed shoulders.

"Jasmine, it's nothing to be embarrassed about," Igna assured. "All girls around your age go through it."

Jasmine just groaned as Amy looked at her eyes. "Aw, you're a woman now?" she asked, only making the teenager groan again. "Yeah, I've been there. Trust me, it's much worse when you start in the middle of school while wearing a white skirt."

"I think I'm going to avoid wearing white for the rest of my life," Jasmine muttered. "Can we talk about something else, please?"

"Sure," Amy replied. She went to get the thermometer. "I need to take your temperature, though, so you'll have to keep your mouth shut for a while." She placed the plastic over the metal before having Jasmine open her mouth and place it under her tongue. "Hold this please. Igna, how's the firm?"

Igna shrugged. "My boss is a jerk, but a job is a job. Being a secretary isn't bad, and it pays the bills. I just wish Jasmine would do more around the house instead of just sitting around with her comics, computer, and video games." Her voice had a joking tone, and her daughter just glared.

"I know how that is," Amy laughed. "It wasn't until they went off to college that my kids realized how things got clean." She never mentioned Charlie, and everyone else seemed to follow along as if it were some unwritten rule they all instinctively knew. She took out the thermometer when the small machine on the wall beeped. "Oh, it looks like you have a slight fever. Have you been sick lately?" Amy discarded the plastic and put away the thermometer before writing down information in Jasmine's file.

"Other than writhing with pain in bed because the stupid pills don't work?" questioned Jasmine with a sarcastic tone that made her mother shake her head. "Nope."

"I thought you said your throat was scratching yesterday," said Igna.

"Not anymore," Jasmine replied.

Getting the machine to take Jasmine's blood pressure ready, Amy informed, "Well, Dr. Long will just do a few short tests to be sure so you can stay healthy. There's nothing worse than being sick during summer vacation."

"I'll say," the girl snorted, giving a humorless smile and wrinkling her small, gently-sloped nose. "Last year, I wasn't able to do _anything_ because of that stupid broken leg. I only got to enjoy _two weeks_ of summer vacation!"

"I believe that was your own fault for riding your skateboard down the steepest hill in Denver." Igna raised her eyebrows in warning when her daughter stuck out her tongue.

Coughing, Jasmine allowed Amy to check her blood pressure. Her arm began to hurt as she muttered, "Derrick dared me…"

The three spoke some as Amy hurried to finish up the exam, asking a few questions and recording the answers into the file. She hated having to be this quick, thinking that time with each patient was important to make sure that nothing was missed. Some nurses barely even examined anymore, needing to rush to meet their… _quota_. Amy hated using that word describing care in a hospital, but that was the best thing she could think of. She remembered seeing a patient come back three days later because the needed tests hadn't been done during her first visit—turned out Nurse Taylor had only asked the basic questions about the patient's nausea and hadn't taken enough time to listen to the patient talk about the migraines he'd been having lately.

"Okay," Amy set the file down on the table next to the computer, "I have to go see the next patient on my list, but Dr. Long should be here soon."

"Last that was said, I ended up waiting for almost an hour." Jasmine earned a glare from her mother. "Sorry, Mrs. Duncan," she said quickly.

"It's alright," Amy assured. "I don't like this either, but we're greatly understaffed when compared to the number of patients we have. I can't tell you how many times I've seen patients waiting in the hallways on _gurneys_." Amy gave an exasperated sigh. "But I should leave before I start ranting again."

"_Lai jums veicas_," wished Igna.

Even without knowing the language, it was easy to guess what had been said. "Thank you." She then closed the door behind her, took a deep breath, blinked back her tears, and went back to work. _But I don't need luck. I need a miracle._

**XXX**

Letter 1: St. Petersburg, Russia

Letter 2: Malmö, Sweden

Letter 3: Helsingor, Denmark

Letter 4: London, England

Letter 5: Hong Kong, China

Letter 6: Tokyo, Japan

Letter 7: Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, USA

Letter 8: Whynott, Indiana, USA

Letter 9: Venice, Italy

Letter 10: Istanbul, Turkey

Letter 11: Sanremo, Italy

Letter 12: Oslo, Norway

Letter 13: Kenya (somewhere in a jungle, miles from nearest city)

_Now how the hell are these places connected?_ thought Teddy.

It had taken the twenty-eight-year-old _five days_ to finally figure out where each letter had come from. The trashcan was full of crumpled up papers and pens that had run out of ink. Most of those papers had things crossed out, and even the papers Teddy had kept were mostly covered by crossed out words and sentences. Only a few were circled when Teddy thought that maybe she had finally found a viable clue. Sometimes it was just a key word or phrase, or maybe it was a sort of code Teddy had thought she should bring up to the CIA to use. Even with the phrases, the words of the key phrase weren't all together. They were usually woven into other words in the paragraph, which held some sort of grammatical error to grab Teddy's attention and tell her, "Look here! Look here!"

After day three, Teddy had needed to get a new notebook, as well as more pens. She had not met with Leonie, Catherine, Sebastian, or Luke ever since starting this endeavor, and she had texted them, saying that she was just working and that she would let them know when she could meet them for lunch or something. Teddy had not neglected her duties as an au pair, however, not wanting to let anyone know about her project. Teddy had decided on day one to keep this a secret, but, as she got closer to finding out where Charlie may be heading to next, it got harder for her to leave and do her cleaning, cooking, or helping out with Lena and David. Teddy knew she had been spacing out more lately, but, since that tended to be normal, Teddy decided that no one would call her out on it.

"Come on, Charlie. Where's the pattern?" Teddy had scrutinized every letter to where she knew them all by heart and could decipher the hidden meanings to tell the reader of the location from which she was writing. Teddy now began to wonder if there was any deeper meaning—a way for her to find her baby sister hidden tightly away so that no one else but Teddy would find her. "Charlie, tell me where you are."

"_Wer sind sie reden über_?" David's soft voice made Teddy jump, the pen flying out of her hand and onto the floor. "_Es tut mir leid_."

Settling herself, Teddy turned to look at David, his hazel eyes part-way hidden by his dark brown hair cut somewhat in a skater style. Teddy's mind shifted to German, not even realizing it, until the language spilled out of her mouth. "It's okay, David. You just startled me. Do you need something?"

The teenager hesitated, hands in the pockets of his jeans and eyes lowered to the floor as if studying the pattern of the wood grain. "I… I just noticed that you've been acting a little different lately. Are you okay?" He never met Teddy's eyes, and his words were low and quick as if hoping that Teddy couldn't hear so he could just dismiss it and leave.

This caught Teddy a little off-guard. Upon her arrival, David hadn't really been the warmest person around. He wasn't mean to her or made her feel unwelcome; he just seemed to be uncomfortable with a stranger staying in his home. Teddy hadn't understood it, seeing as she, herself, had never been shy—she had proved that during the talent show in tenth grade. David had gotten better over the time Teddy had been there, but him actually coming up to Teddy on his own was definitely a novelty.

"Um…" Teddy didn't want to tell him everything, but there was a gleam in David's deep-set eyes that showed her that he was truthfully concerned. "I'm just worried about my little sister. She's…" Teddy did not want to upset David.

"What?" David walked further into the room, looking up a degree. He had shaken his head so that his eyes were almost completely veiled by his thick hair, and his steps were soft, almost unsure.

Teddy cleared her sore throat, feeling the tears coming again. "She's been missing for two years. She disappeared a few months before I came to Wien."

There was a sharp intake of breath from David, and Teddy knew that he was thinking about if Lena were to suddenly disappear. David and Lena had never been the stereotypical big brother and little sister Teddy was used to seeing (never once did David frame her for a crime, and never once did Lena beat him with a foam bat). David usually took the time Lena wanted from him, whether it was helping her with something or just hanging out because she was bored. David had much more patience than Teddy had at his age, and Teddy remembered how she had acted when Gabe was about Lena's age.

Teddy had known that Gabe usually felt left out and alone, especially with everyone's attention on the new baby, and she could only think of a handful of instances where she had really sat down with him to just talk or assure him that he was still very important to the family. Gabe had gone through a rebellious stage in late middle school and early high school, which had finally come to an end during his sophomore year when he was caught at a party. Some guys at the party had brought beer and marijuana with them, and, although Gabe never touched the alcohol or drugs, he had been taken down to the station with the others. At that point, Dad had had it, and he told the police to keep Gabe in the holding cell overnight—make him see what will happen if he keeps digging the hole he had fallen into. It had been enough to scare him, but it wasn't until the next year he had finally gotten his life on track. The night in jail had actually helped Gabe more than Dad had originally thought—that was when Gabe had decided to study criminal justice.

Looking at David, Teddy saw that the thirteen-year-old had almost never felt envy or displeasure towards his little sister. Teddy wasn't sure if it was his upbringing, his nature, or both, but it made Teddy give a smile. It was a genuine smile that finally lit some of the fire behind her eyes—fire she thought had long since been extinguished. Teddy just loved how close David and Lena were. It was like her and Charlie, and it was like how Teddy now wished she had been with Gabe. As these thoughts swept through Teddy's mind, her iPod (in the dock once more) switched from a song by Tabitha King to another song by Megaherz. David's head then came up, and he looked over at the bright pink iPod and white dock questionably.

"You don't seem like someone who would like alternative rock." His voice was low, and his eyes were distant. He seemed unsure of himself and uncomfortable with talking to Teddy about something that was obviously personal.

"Not really," Teddy admitted. "I only have one of their CDs. It was a gift from the sister of a friend of mine. I usually listen to light rock, pop, dance, some hip-hop—mostly stuff I can sway my hips to. But my friend and her sister had gotten a hold of my iPod one day and uploaded a bunch of songs. Some of them I avoided for a while, but they turned out to be pretty good." Teddy didn't know why she was babbling about music. Maybe she was doing that thing where she talked when she was nervous or sleep-deprived, or maybe she just wanted to get her mind off of Charlie, a part of her brain not wanting to find her.

_No_, Teddy told herself. _I'm finding her. I'm finding her if I have to drag myself through hell and back._

"Hmm…" David turned back to her, seeming to know that she was getting off topic but too shy to say anything about it. "I like rock and metal. I also like rap sometimes, I guess. Lena got me into listening to classical. It's what she listens to so she can get to sleep." So, he was trying to change the topic as well.

_He needs me to ask him for help,_ Teddy realized. _He's not the kind of person to barge in on someone else's business_. That type of character was alien to Teddy, who had grown up in a house full of nosy siblings and parents. "Yeah, I know." Teddy had often heard the sounds of Mozart, Strauss, Beethoven, and others she did not know coming from Lena's room next door. "Hey…" _I can't believe I'm going to ask help from a thirteen-year-old._ "Would you like to help me with something?"

A smile seemed to tug at the corners of David's mouth, but he managed to keep his face mostly neutral to where one may think the near-smile had been a trick of the light. However, Teddy knew that this was something David wanted to hear. He was a kind-hearted kid who just wanted to help anyone that he could. It was a very admirable trait Teddy hoped no one would take advantage of.

"What would you like me to do?" David asked, his veil of hair unable to hide the spark of happiness in his eyes.

"Well," Teddy got up from her chair and stretched, "first I'd like you to come over here and stop making me feel like a leper." Teddy laughed, and, this time, David allowed himself to smile as he came over and sat down in the chair. "Second, I want you to help me look over this list of places. I managed to figure out that my sister had traveled to these places in order during her absence. I need to know if there's a pattern between them."

"Pattern?" David looked up from the piece of paper to Teddy's eyes.

Teddy nodded. "I'm pretty sure there's some sort of connection between each place. If I can figure out what that connection is, then maybe I can find out where she's going next and meet her there."

David gave a nod in understanding. "What do you have so far?"

"This list. It took me days, but I think I may have found out a connection between Helsingor and London. It's a stretch though."

"What are you thinking?"

"Well, another name for Helsingor is Elsinore, which was the setting for _Hamlet_, a play written by William Shakespeare and performed at the Globe in London."

"Hmm…" David thought for a bit. "Didn't England own Hong Kong at one point? I think I remember hearing that in history at one time."

Blinking, Teddy looked at the list again. Right after London was Hong Kong, then Tokyo. Hadn't the Japanese inhabited Hong Kong at some point in history? Teddy quickly leaned over David to start typing into her laptop, immediately going to a search engine.

**xxx**

A few hours every afternoon for the next two weeks, David helped Teddy, who also worked on the puzzle a few hours every morning while David and Lena were at school. It was a Wednesday that Teddy found her heart fluttering wildly, her stomach knotting and trying to crush the swarming butterflies that multiplied every couple of seconds. That afternoon, she had David finish his homework first before he came to her room to look over the improved list with her:

Letter 1: St. Petersburg, Russia – Great Northern War; Peter the Great captured Swedish forces

Letter 2: Malmö, Sweden – once called Skåne and became Swedish in the seventeenth century; still has Danish "look"

Letter 3: Helsingor, Denmark – city closest to Sweden; also known as "Elsinore", setting for Hamlet: Prince of Denmark

Letter 4: London, England – capital of England; location of "The Globe"

Letter 5: Hong Kong, China – owned by England after Opium Wars; inhabited by Japanese in 1941 after the Battle of Hong Kong

Letter 6: Tokyo, Japan - Tokyo Bay was where Black Ships docked, looking for whaling rights for the USA

Letter 7: Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, USA – Located on Susquehanna River (one of Black Ships was named Susquehanna); notable stopping place along the Underground Railroad

Letter 8: Whynott, Indiana, USA – birthplace of "Peg Leg Joe", who is credited for authoring the song, "Follow the Drinkin' Gourd"

Letter 9: Venice, Italy – Indiana Jones and Marcus met Henry's colleague, Dr. Elsa Schneider and discovered the tomb of Sir Richard from the first Crusade

Letter 10: Istanbul, Turkey – once Constantinople, a stop of the Crusaders; once the capital of the Ottoman Empire

Letter 11: Sanremo, Italy – place of San Remo Conference to discuss partitioning of the Ottoman Empire after WWI; notable people stayed here, such as Alfred Nobel

Letter 12: Oslo, Norway – where Nobel Peace Prizes are given out

Letter 13: Kenya (somewhere in a jungle, miles from nearest city)

To figure this entire thing out, Teddy had to once again study each letter, finding that Charlie had been dropping small hints to how the places are connected and where she would be heading to next. Teddy figured that Alfred Nobel was how Sanremo and Oslo connected, but she was stumped with Oslo to Kenya. She and David studied Letter 12, David occasionally having to ask what it was something said. It made the search go slower, which annoyed Teddy, but she couldn't blame David. She had met his English teacher—the French teacher spoke better English. She helped him, pointing at certain words that had led her to believe that Charlie had sent this from Oslo. Teddy then stared at the letter, as if hoping the answer she searched for would just jump out from the parchment.

It had taken her and David the longest to figure out the connection with Whynott and Venice. Then, when inspecting the letter from Whynott, Teddy finally figured out that Charlie had been pointing her towards Venice via speaking of the Indiana Jones movie they had watched together: _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade_. Teddy had mentally slapped herself for not seeing that sooner. Now all that was left was Oslo and Kenya, and David looked tired. The only break the two had was dinner (David had stayed to look over everything as Teddy cooked), and Teddy sighed as she pulled David up from the chair.

"Go to bed," she said in English, tired herself and forgetting to speak in German. David still understood, though, and gave a nod to her as he went off to his room.

"_Gute nacht_," he yawned, closing Teddy's door behind him.

"_Gute nacht_," Teddy whispered even though she knew that David could no longer hear her. "_Danke schön_." She gave her own yawn and sat down at her desk, looking over Letter 12. Teddy figured that this one may have the clues in what Teddy had originally thought to be reminiscing—just as she had originally thought with the Indiana Jones movie in Letter 8.

In the third paragraph, Teddy found Charlie saying how she wished that she was back in school so she could get a prize at the science fair like Teddy had when she was nine. Charlie told her that she would have liked to create a project to show how people could help improve the environment. That had caught Teddy's attention early on, but Teddy hadn't been sure what that had been about.

Before, Charlie wasn't exactly an environmentalist. She loved animals, sure, but it was mostly just those that fell into the "cute and fuzzy" category. She also tended to prefer comfort and did not always think too much about how much energy she used up or anything such as that, and her only reaction when the water ration had started was that it irritated her. There were those still up with the "Go Green" movement, but it wasn't as big with Charlie at her school as it had been with Teddy at hers. Charlie wasn't exactly wasteful, but Teddy hadn't understood why Charlie would have suddenly gotten an interest in helping the environment. Charlie had been more into English and literature than science, anyway.

Setting the sketchbook down, Teddy went back onto the search engine and typed in _2004 winner of Nobel Peace Prize_. Someone came up instantly: Wangari Maathai, who was an environmentalist—the first environmentalist to win the Nobel Peace Prize. Teddy immediately wrote this down on the list next to Kenya, which was where Maathai was from. Teddy then sat back. She had just gotten through the easy part.

Having the two endpoints and drawing the line to connect them was simple. Now Teddy had to find different connections before hitting the endpoint. There were hundreds of directions of which she could walk, so Teddy decided to start with something broad: Brief History of Kenya. Teddy then turned the page in her sketchbook to view Letter 13.

_Don't worry Charlie,_ thought Teddy. _I'm almost there._

_My melancholy was gold dust in your hands;  
><em>_On your long hands I scattered my life;  
><em>_My sweetnesses remained clutched in your hands;  
><em>_Now I am a vial of perfume, emptied_

_How much sweet torture quietly suffered,  
><em>_When, my soul wrested with shadowy sadness,  
><em>_She who knows the tricks, I passed the days  
><em>_kissing the two hands that stifled my life_

_- "Sweet Torture" by Alfonsina Storni_


	8. No Use Lying to One's Self

_**Sapien Distemper, or Dog Flu, is a mutated form of Canine Distemper. WHO declared an outbreak during the time of May 2022 to August 2023. It was believed to have first been contracted in the northeast United States, quickly spreading to various cities around the world. The scare was so bad, there were mass killings of dogs in some areas, but WHO and ASPCA, as well as other animal organizations, quickly came in to say that humans could not contract the disease from dogs. It was recorded that nearly 1500 people ended up getting infected with Sapien Distemper, and a little over 900 people died from it.**_

_**Okay, my AU news is over. Enjoy the chapter. :)**_

"_Life's too short to be anything but happy." - Anonymous_

Standing before a mass of vibrant flowers arranged to resemble a clock (complete with two large, metal clock hands), Teddy stood with her eyes towards the statue of Strauss and the breeze whispering through her hair and toying with the gentle curls. Teddy's right hand held onto her cell phone in the pocket of her dark wash jeans as she waited for Leonie, who had decided that she wanted to hang out and had even threatened in her text to drag Teddy out of the apartment if she had to. Teddy had finished much of her school work and chores, so she agreed, the headache from trying to find Charlie finally settling in. Teddy had read through three different websites that went through a basic history of Kenya, and she had studied each word of Charlie's letter until it felt like her eyeballs were about to fall out onto the page. That was when Teddy had finally decided to get some sleep.

_I can't find her if I end up killing myself,_ Teddy had decided.

Her mind was filled with information that spun in a vicious whirlwind as she attempted to file everything away in her already-overloading brain. Teddy was starting to think that the theory, which stated that thought had mass, was true. She rubbed her temples as the people (many tourists) went around her, and her warm brown eyes finally fell onto the woman running towards her, the breeze causing her brown-black hair to flutter behind her.

Before Teddy could get out a greeting, Leonie brought her into a crushing hug and gave her a peck on the cheek. The gesture was still weird to Teddy even after two years, but she hugged Leonie back before taking a step back to breathe. Teddy's mind had already switched to German before she even realized it.

"Hi, Leonie. Why did you want to meet in Stadtpark? You usually like to meet at the clubs. It's normally Catherine who's the outdoors-type." Teddy gave a laugh, but it didn't sound genuine. It was like something in a script—half-hearted.

Not seeming to notice, Leonie hooked one arm with Teddy's as they began to walk away from the flowers and towards the statue. "I like a nice change now and again." The two avoided the tourists taking pictures of the statue and turned right to follow the path, making sure to stay away from the group on a bicycle tour. "You've been a bit of a recluse lately."

"Just working." Teddy tried to smile, but it felt strained.

"That's it?" Leonie raised her eyebrows, but it was hard to see from behind her fringe bangs. "You speak better German than most people that have lived here their entire lives." There was a questioning shimmer in her chocolate-colored eyes.

"Well, I'm also studying Italian and French, remember?" Teddy had gotten better at lying over the years, but only when the lies were small—hiding how she felt, mostly. Ever since the fiasco with her mom and Ivy's mom at the movie theatre, Teddy had tried to keep away from the bigger lies. She found it much easier to wrap a tiny lie around the truth. It _was_ true that she was studying French and Italian. The only thing she was lying about was that she hadn't been studying them _lately_. All of her free time had been pledged to locating Charlie or guessing where it was she would be next.

"Mm-hmm…" Leonie's questioning look stayed, but she seemed to not want to press. Teddy was sure that her make-up had not been able to conceal the dark circles under her eyes; Leonie probably thought that Teddy was going through something and that pushing her would make her break down.

Leonie was always very aware of how she appeared to others. She'd be ready to lend her shoulder when needed, but not if it's around so many people. She toyed with the tips of her shoulder-length hair and tucked it behind her left ear, revealing the soft curve of her jaw. Her pouty lips were painted red, and there was a bit of rouge to help give some radiance to her copper skin.

As the two sauntered down the path, Leonie inquired, "How's your friend? The one in New York."

"Good." Teddy smiled, happy for the distraction. "Her boyfriend proposed a couple of weeks ago. She wants the wedding to be in mid-July. So when I leave Wien… stop that." Teddy laughed as Leonie pouted. "I'll rest at Denver for a while, stay with my parents, see my brothers, turn in my essay about my experience in Austria to Professor Braun in person as well as talk to her. She and Professor Davis were my favorites. Then, I'll head to New York City and stay with Ivy for a couple of weeks, helping her with everything and keeping her from murdering anyone." Teddy gave another laugh. "She's already asked me to be the Maid of Honor."

"That's great." Leonie flashed a smile that lit up her eyes. "I remember you telling me that she had been 'dying for him to ask'." She gave a laugh as she looked out towards the pond. "So, have _you_ found someone special? Is _that_ why you've been avoiding us?" There was a somewhat sly gleam to Leonie's eyes, but Teddy could tell that she knew better. The woman was just playing around, trying to get Teddy to lighten up.

It was working. Teddy rolled her eyes as she sighed. "You are just as bad as Ivy. Look, I don't see _you_ with a boyfriend."

"I'm still getting over Jack." Leonie gave a melodramatic sigh.

"Yet you're willing to flirt at the clubs, leaving with five numbers _minimum_." Teddy laughed, remembering how Leonie was always able to ease herself into the crowd and always make it seem as if she just belonged.

She was a social butterfly who seemed to be able to use her people-reading skills to make it seem as if she and a complete stranger had been best friends for life. It was a talent Teddy had been slightly envious of when she first started hanging out with Leonie. Although never shy, Teddy had never been as at-ease with people she didn't know very well. She would always try to dive in, but it usually started out with an awkward conversation or two before she finally found someone that was willing to get to know her better.

"I like to have fun." Leonie shrugged. "You should try some time."

"I'd rather find someone to be serious with." Teddy had limits that "just some fun" could never fall under. It was harder for Teddy to find "serious BF" potential at clubs, which was why Leonie had also dragged Teddy to cafés and book stores as well. Teddy began to wonder if the park was just another man-scouting area. She wished her friends would respect that she just wanted to be single.

This time, Leonie sighed. "I just hate seeing you so sad," she admitted, looking away a degree. "I don't think I can remember a time when your smiles had been anything but fake. I don't think I can remember when you laughed for real and not because you thought you should." Her eyes met Teddy's. "I've been trying to get you to tell me, but I guess subtle doesn't work with you."

"It's personal," Teddy whispered, breaking away from Leonie's gaze.

"You wouldn't be this upset if it wasn't." Leonie's voice was low and serious, her eyes shining with worry. "Let's go sit down, or maybe go have lunch, and I'll pay. Just tell me what's wrong."

Thinking, Teddy noticed that there was a slight ache in her stomach. She hadn't been eating much the past two-and-a-half weeks. "Lunch would be nice…" Teddy thought for a moment. "Would you be willing to pay for a soda?" she asked timidly in a sing-song voice like when she was younger and asking her mom or dad for something. "I've been _craving_ a Coke or Pepsi."

Leonie laughed. "Agree to come dancing with me and Sebastian tonight, and we've got a deal."

This smile was real as Teddy softly giggled, though it sounded more like quick and shallow intakes of air. "Deal."

**xxx**

At a booth near the back of the Chinese restaurant, Teddy had barely touched her general tso's chicken and fried rice, even though it was one of her favorites. Her eyes were on the shiny wood of the table, Leonie nibbling on her pork dumplings. The dark-haired woman listened to Teddy's story intently, taking in her friend's slumped shoulders, hunched back, dull and tired eyes, slight frown, wrinkled brow, twitching fingers, and quivering lip.

For as long as Leonie had known her (nearly two years), she had found Teddy to be one of those people that were just good at hiding things. It was always difficult reading those types of people correctly. They had learned to build up walls and seemed to have taken notes of their normal behavior so they could copy it exactly when they did not want anyone to notice anything was wrong. Usually, Leonie read people like books—it was to a point where Sebastian had accused her of being psychic. It was a gift that made her job as a psychotherapist a bit easier than it would be for most others.

Through the half-hour that the two women had been sitting down at the booth, Teddy had been talking, only occasionally stopping to take a bite of her food, a sip of her Pepsi, a breath, or just to keep herself from crying. This was the first time Leonie had ever seen her with her walls torn down, and it sent a knife through her heart. How long had Teddy been keeping this bottled up?

Leonie guessed it was since it happened. A mental toll like that could drive anyone crazy, and Leonie was more than happy to help liberate some of the burdens from Teddy's shoulders. All of these troubles Teddy had been holding by herself… Never once had the blonde asked for help.

It reminded Leonie of a sixteen-year-old girl she had spoken to. The girl's father and uncle had died a year before—two weeks apart. Seven months later, three of her cousins had fallen ill, one being with cancer and one with Sapien Distemper (mostly known as the Dog Flu). The girl never told anyone. She just put on her mask each day, pretending that everything was alright. Not even her best friends noticed. The girl told Leonie that she hadn't wanted to burden them with her problems. She'd carry them herself, and then maybe she would get stronger. However, it was the opposite that happened. The burdens seemed to multiply, taking away more and more of her energy. The sorrow she felt inside pushed her towards the edge, and even her self-esteem began to suffer. She started dieting and exercising more to help deal with the stress and horrible feelings. It got to where she had needed to be hospitalized, and then she was brought to speak with Leonie—Dr. Heideck.

She had told Leonie that the burdens got heavier and heavier, and, even though she had wanted to call for help, she couldn't. She had just tried to find ways to handle it all herself. The burdens had depleted her, wasting away at her mental state. Leonie could see this in Teddy as the twenty-eight-year-old told her story, starting with when Charlie had failed to return home from school.

Apparently, Charlie had been twelve, and she had a specific routine she didn't like to mess with. Charlie was about order and liked everything neat and scheduled.

"Not a good quality at our house of chaos," Teddy laughed.

This made it to where Teddy's mom and dad had grown worried when Charlie failed to come home from school at the usual time—approximately 3:30. They called all of her friends, who told them that Charlie had left school early, missing fourth, fifth, and sixth period. Her textbooks had been found a block away from the school with an index card taped to the Civics book, which had been on the top of the pile. The note had merely said that the books belonged to East Junior High School, and it was signed _Charlie Duncan_. It was her handwriting, and a clear thumbprint had been found right next to her signature—some suspected that the print was too clean and had been planted.

In Charlie's locker were all of her binders and notebooks, baffling the police and family alike on why she would have left her textbooks on a sidewalk, near a building. The police had also searched Charlie's bedroom, the only things missing being a few clothes, box of stationary she had gotten for her birthday the year before, and her laptop and charger. The police then immediately tried to track down her laptop, leading them to Durango, Colorado. The laptop was left in a plastic bag, buried under an aspen tree.

"Charlie's favorite," Teddy reported.

On the laptop had been another note:

_Please stop looking for me. _

– _Charlie Duncan_

Police had to go back to square one, and Teddy, Gabe, and PJ had gotten three different pictures of Charlie, making up _thousands_ of flyers to distribute throughout Colorado. A woman at the Denver airport had called, saying she had seen Charlie. She had gotten on a plane to go to Maine, alone. She had a purple-and-black backpack, and she had turned to wave to an older woman before going to enter the plane. The woman Charlie waved to was of average height with dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, lots of make-up, and long nails painted red. The woman ushering the passengers to the plane had assumed the woman to be the girl's mother.

The police had checked into this, finding out that Charlie had used the alias Claire Smith. The plane landed in Augusta, Maine, but the trail had gone cold there. Back at the Denver airport, an abandoned, black 2012 Taurus had been found, everything wiped clean. Only a couple strands of hair in the passenger seat were found—they were a match to Charlie.

Police tried to find the owner of the car, but the car had been stolen from a family in Aurora, Colorado. The license plate had just been changed, and the family was cleared immediately of any suspicion. Everyone worked hard to find Charlie, but there were never any new leads. Her friends told police that Charlie seemed worried that week and the two weeks before, but midterms were on the week she went missing, so they hadn't thought much about it.

The woman that had seen Charlie at the airport was asked to see a sketch artist and describe the woman she had thought to be "Claire's" mom. A composite sketch was made and distributed all over. A few people had come forward, leading the police to a woman of forty-eight named Richelle Sands, who lived in Castle Rock, Colorado. She was brought in for a polygraph test, which she passed, saying that she had never seen or met Charlotte Duncan. She was released, since there was no sufficient evidence to tie her to Charlie's disappearance.

Teddy paused again, staring at a picture of a stampede of horses running through shallow water. "We were all devastated. I stayed at home during the term for a while to keep my parents company, and I'd hear my mom crying at night. She had even quit her job as a nurse so she could devote all her time to finding Charlie. I signed up to be an au pair so I could escape. I was twenty-six, getting too old to be an au pair in many places. The age limit to be one in Austria was twenty-nine, and I had been taking German classes, so I put my name on the list. I just needed to escape. But…" Teddy didn't want to mention the letters. She had already shared them with David. That was enough. Teddy did not want too many people to know anything about the letters that had mysteriously started showing up not long after Teddy got settled in Vienna.

"You can't let her go." Leonie gave a nod of understanding. "I'm an only child, so I can't completely understand this, but I do know what it's like to lose someone."

_She's not lost_, Teddy thought but didn't say. _She's in hiding. I need to find her and figure out why_.

"Are you starting to feel a little better?" Leonie's dark eyes were soft and warm, lips stretched into a smile, showing a thin strip of pearly teeth.

Unable to keep from smiling, Teddy nodded and began to eat.

_Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,  
><em>'_Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;  
><em>_But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,  
><em>_And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,  
><em>_That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -  
><em>_Darkness there, and nothing more._

_- "The Raven" (stanza 4) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	9. Echoes of Footsteps

**_"Ace" is a slang term used later in the chapter, and those around Charlie's age are using it more than "cool" in casual language, and it's being used by more and more older individuals as well. "Neba" is also a word used with a similar meaning, but it's not as prevelent._**

"_One could get a first-class education from a shelf of books five feet long." - Charles William Eliot_

It was sweet relief as Charlie left the ship she had been trapped on for five-and-a-half days. The air was warm and humid, a slight breeze teasing Charlie's hair as she followed Sierra, her heart pounding as they went through customs. Every time Charlie had to bring out her passport, she always wondered if that would be when someone realizes the passport is fake or that she was the missing girl from the posters or flyers or whatever it was her family put up.

Much of it had to have died down by now, but Charlie was just never sure if and when she would be recognized by someone. Sierra and Scarlett had both assured her when they were in St. Petersburg that there was no more need to worry about that, but Charlie could not help but worry. She stopped breathing as the man looked over her passport, stamping a page before he handed it back to her. She started to breathe again only when she was five feet away from him, she and Sierra heading farther into the city.

Hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, Charlie's hair swished across her backpack as she walked, following Sierra into a small shop that sold stones and gems. The glass shelves held fluorite orbs on pedestals; slabs of agate, geodes, and other stones Charlie could not identify by sight; and figurines of all shapes ranging from the simplicity of an egg to something complex like a stallion rearing back or a dragon flying or wrapped around some sort of other stone. Charlie looked along a row of small boxes that held small stones that could fit into a pocket, the names labeled on the front of each oak box. Charlie counted twenty-eight boxes, and behind them were nine larger boxes with larger stones of different types. These stones ranged from something common like rose quartz to something rarer like opal or morganite. The boxes were locked behind glass, along with several pendulums, simple chains, and charms for necklaces.

"_Bonzour_," greeted Sierra, stepping up to the counter, which held more jewelry behind protective glass. Sierra flashed a friendly smile, and the woman behind the counter looked up at her, pushing up her wire-rimmed glasses.

"_Bonzour,_" she replied. "_Mwen ka ede ou_?" She folded her wrinkled hands on top of her book, her dark brown eyes meeting Sierra's.

"_Wi_, I was wondering if you had a pendulum—seventeen-inch chain, bronze with opal," Sierra requested nonchalantly.

Turning back to look at some of the figurines, Charlie took a step towards the back of the store. Her eyes glanced over the miniature angels, regal-looking cats, inviting dogs, and others as she heard the woman say, "All of my pendulums are over there." Charlie knew the woman was indicating to the eight pendulums by the oak boxes.

It was the same thing at each stop. There was a certain store, restaurant, park, museum, or monument where they would meet the person that would lead them to the safe house. None of these people knew how many were with them, what their names were, or even what they looked like. They were only told to look for some sort of signal or listen for some sort of code word/phrase.

Normally, the phrase was asking for something somewhat specific—something that would not stand out _too_ much, but something that would not be asked by Average Joe. The person was supposed to make sure that they were the correct people by telling them that the item being asked for is not in stock and propose something else. In turn, Sierra or Scarlett was supposed to insist for that specific item. Also, if the person believed the place was unsafe or something was wrong, they were to give them something else. Charlie turned her head slightly to watch the exchange.

"I have one that is an eighteen-inch chain made of copper," the shopkeeper continued, tucking a lock of her salt-and-pepper hair behind her right ear. She looked calm and was not rushing Sierra, so Charlie was sure they were safe for now. Nothing has happened yet that has made them leave the country immediately, but she was no longer naïve enough to think no one could figure out where they'd go.

"I'm pretty adamant on getting the seventeen-inch with brass and opal," Sierra insisted. Charlie did not know why the keeper could just not have been told who they were so that they wouldn't have to go through this. Scarlett had only told her that it was safer, but neither she nor Sierra had explained how—at least, not to where Charlie could understand.

"Are you sure? I also have a sixteen inch with silver and amethyst, which provides much aid for divination."

"_Wi_, I'm very sure." Sierra's smile had fallen a degree. Charlie watched the two of them, able to tell that Sierra was tired of going through these procedures as well.

The woman watched Sierra for a few seconds before getting up from her stool. "I will be right back."

The woman was about an inch shorter than Charlie, and she went into the back, the doorway between the shelves on the back wall holding the figurines and the shelves on the far wall holding the boxes and pendulums. Sierra then motioned for Charlie to come to her, and the girl obeyed, barely flinching when Sierra reached into her duffel bag and quickly lifted Charlie's tunic to stuff the CZ 75b into the holster lying over Charlie's right hip. The motion was swift, and Sierra covered it up with a hug, Charlie gingerly returning it before scuttling back to the shelves holding the figurines.

Both Sierra and Charlie were quiet as the woman returned, carrying something in her closed right hand. She then sat back on her stool and inquired, "Would you like me to wrap it for you?" The way her almond-shaped eyes met Sierra's let Charlie know that this was part of the exchange.

"_Silvouple_," answered Sierra as she gave a single nod. Her smile was now barely there as the shopkeeper got out a small box and some tissue paper. She wrapped the pendulum up and taped it in place before putting it into the small, black box. She then placed the box in a navy-and-silver paper bag with the store's name on it.

"Forty rupees," she stated.

Without a response, Sierra got her wallet out of the small pocket on the side of her duffel bag, taking out a bill with a ship printed on it. She handed it to the shopkeeper, who took it and handed back one smaller bill. Sierra nodded her thanks as she took the money and the bag. She and Charlie then proceeded out the door, the shopkeeper returning to her book as if nothing had happened. Charlie let out a breath, not even realizing that she had been nervous.

There was always a risk of them being compromised. She was constantly reminded that there were people swindled into betrayal each day. It was a sad fact, and they could not always be completely sure who was a friend or foe. It drove Charlie nuts, but she was always reminded by Sierra, who would quote John Quincy Adams: "All men profess honesty as long as they can. To believe all men honest would be folly. To believe none so is something worse."

Charlie swore that sometimes Sierra was better than quoteland, but she knew that the woman was right. They couldn't just decide to trust nobody. If they were to assume _everyone_ was the enemy, they would be slowly driven to insanity and may just end up turning on each other. Trust was a fundamental need for humanity many tended to overlook. It did not surprise Charlie. With so much corruption and suspicion, it was no wonder so many people were paranoid about who warranted their trust. As trust dwindled away, so did the hope for humanity. Charlie wanted to bring back that trust and hope. There was no doubt in her mind that that was what she was fighting for. She could not just sit back and let civilization destroy itself out of fear and hate.

_I'd rather the world fall in fire rather than ice_, Charlie thought sullenly, the words of "Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost running through her head. She had needed to memorize it for a test a month before she ran away. She hadn't been able to memorize the entire thing before the test, but now it refused to leave her mind.

"Francis Rachel Street," Sierra murmured, breaking through Charlie's thoughts. She looked to be admiring the pendulum, which was coiled in the box, tissue paper torn. Charlie knew, though, that Sierra was reading the piece of paper the shopkeeper had slipped into the box. She then closed the box and put it away in the small pocket where she kept her wallet. She then pulled out a map of Victoria, which she had gotten on the ship, near where she had exchanged her shillings for rupees.

"Hmm?" Charlie looked over at the map as Sierra opened it.

"Cool, near the library." Sierra gave a smile as she looked up at the streets. They stopped at a corner, and Sierra took out her wallet again. "I really wish Stacy was here," she muttered, using Scarlett's alias on impulse. "There's a café down that way across the street." Sierra didn't point. She motioned with her head, making it look like a sort of nod to anyone else who may be watching. "Go there and order something. Make sure that there's people around you. If there's less than a dozen, go to the book store near there. Stay close enough to a crowd or some group of people, got it?"

This was why Charlie had two guardians instead of only one. When she was still hiding out in different states with only Sierra as they waited for Scarlett to find a window to leave Denver, Charlie had to be watched more closely. She could not be left alone, for fear of her being taken. Yet, Sierra needed to scout out the safe house as an extra precaution, and, in case someone _was_ there, she couldn't have Charlie with her when she did this. So Charlie would always be with Scarlett or Sierra as the other sister went to check out the safe house. It could not be this way now in Victoria, and it frightened Charlie. At least in the states, there was at least someone Sierra knew that was more than willing to help them. Now they were alone, and it scared the young girl. Yet, all she could do was suck it up and nod, following Sierra's instructions.

As with any large city, there were hoards of people Charlie had to weave around, but she had gotten used to it. It actually made her feel much safer than if she were alone. At least with people around, it would be more difficult for anyone to try and attack her.

Charlie lifted her backpack over her head to carry it in her arms, not sure about pickpockets. She had dealt with them a few times before, almost losing her counterfeit passport. It would have been hard to replace that, seeing as she wouldn't have been able to just go to the American embassy and get another like in normal circumstances. Charlie had been travelling everywhere illegally, and it scared her to death. Especially when the bags were put through security.

Going on a plane with only a carry-on seemed suspicious enough in Charlie's eyes (most likely wouldn't notice, but still), and she hadn't believed Sierra at first when she said that the epoxy-graphite mix she had made and had in the bag along with hard, thick plastic would keep the guns from being detected by security. So far, it had worked, but Charlie's heart still pounded whenever she neared the security in any place. Charlie was still not sure how the mix worked, and she didn't even know how to make it.

All she knew was that it surrounded the guns in the bag, and clothes and toiletries further obscured the weapons. Charlie had learned to keep a cool face to keep from looking suspicious, and she had actually found it easier to just make her face neutral wherever she went, the usual fire of intense emotion extinguished from her eyes that had made her such an open book back at home. Charlie was sure that no one back home would be able to recognize her if she were to just teleport home that second. She may _look_ the same (for the most part), but Charlie felt that she had changed too much in too short of a time.

_Why did my life have to get so screwed up?_ Charlie wasn't sure how many times she had asked herself this; she stopped counting when she was in Helsingor.

Charlie turned her head slightly as she approached the café, counting the number of people quickly before looking back ahead. There were maybe three people there, two looking ready to leave—no good.

It was too bad; Charlie hadn't had a mocha or cappuccino in a long time. The most they had was a small box of assorted tea bags that were supposed to help with different things—calming down, sleeping, _et cetera_. Unfortunately, the tea was usually for certain occasions, so they normally just drank water.

Sighing, Charlie moved over to turn around and go to the book store. There were plenty of people there, so she walked in, heading to the part of the store holding the books written in English. She found some graphic novels on a circular table and picked one up. It took place in an alternate universe, something Charlie enjoyed reading. Her friends Jasmine and Derrick had gotten her into reading mangas, starting with one Jasmine's older cousin had shown her: _Fruits Basket_. Charlie had fallen in love with Kyo, whereas Jasmine liked Hatsuharu. However, Charlie was not nearly as into them as her two friends, only picking them up every so often and not secretly reading them on-line with her cell phone during class. Plus, her tastes very much differed from the horror-loving Derrick and Jasmine, the "hopeless romantic".

_I really miss them,_ Charlie thought with a sad smile. _I also miss Tammi, Mason, Cory, Laura..._

Charlie set down the graphic novel, feeling nostalgic. She moved towards the chapter books, pretending to just browse as she kept her eye on the window, so she could watch out for Sierra. Some of these books were new, but many have been out for years. Charlie even found some from between 2005 and 2012. She ignored the fantasy and supernatural novels and picked one up that looked like a book she had seen at Tammi's house once before: _Uglies_ by Scott Westerfeld. It had been given to her by her cousin, but Tammi hadn't really been into the dystopia genre much, which, apparently, was a fairly popular genre when Tammi's cousin was in high school.

Charlie set her backpack down by her feet and looked over the cover for a bit. Opening the paperback book, Charlie read the first line: _The early summer sky was the color of cat vomit._

_That's lovely_, thought Charlie sarcastically as she skimmed over the next few pages. She then closed the book and read the summary on the back before placing it back onto the shelf.

Charlie didn't want to become attached to any of the books, knowing that she wouldn't be able to buy them anyway. Charlie picked back up her backpack and held it close. Since she was little, Teddy had been sure to get Charlie into reading and not always having her eyes glued to the TV screen. Apparently, Teddy had been appalled at how many people just watched the movie if it was out or just skimmed over the sparknotes if they had no other choice. Charlie's room was thus filled with books, many of them Teddy's old ones. Whenever Charlie's shelves and closet got too full, she would donate a great amount to the library before getting more. Her tastes ranged from romance to horror and historical fiction to science fiction. Her favorites, however had always been thrillers and crime.

The first series Teddy had given Charlie was _Harry Potter_. Of course, this may not have been the best planning on Teddy's part, seeing as Charlie had been six, and she merely gaped at the thickness of the final four books. Charlie's mom had to read the first three books to her, but after that, Charlie had been so entranced by the tale, she tackled the final, imposing four by herself—and an online dictionary Gabe taught her how to use.

Charlie's vocabulary had grown significantly, and she had begun reading books usually assigned in high school when she was in the third and fourth grade. She was still unable to comprehend different symbolisms and allusions, and when she read them again on her travels with the Thompson sisters, Charlie felt like she was reading them for the first time.

For several minutes, Charlie just looked at the different books, finding a few spy and crime novels she hoped would be in the library. Luckily, Sierra had Charlie read modern works as well as the classics. _All In_ may not have the same metaphors and symbolisms as _Pretty Little Women_ or _Jane Eyre_, but it was more exciting, keeping Charlie glued to every page until the end. Charlie started reading the back of _The Informant_ when she caught the image of Sierra out of the corner of her eye. The brunette was outside on the sidewalk, heading towards the café. Charlie only waved, but Sierra caught her immediately and backtracked to enter the bookshop.

Charlie put the book back onto the shelf and lifted up her backpack as Sierra offered a small smile. "Let's go."

**XXX**

"Weather control?" Mr. Yumn's small brown eyes widened as his gruff voice took on a tone of great interest. "I believe this could be the biggest thing we have." He smiled up at Spencer from behind his cluttered desk.

"Weather control and martial law aren't new conspiracy theories." Spencer wasn't as excited as his boss, but as long as he got to move on to something else, he was fine.

The Giltebreks and the (now nine) people he had interviewed filled his mind more than everything else from all of his other articles. Krystle and Mr. Florez had been a part of it, but everyone had left some sort of impression that Spencer couldn't shake. It was like a footprint made on the moon's surface. The ground wasn't hard, but there was no wind or anything else to force the footprints to be covered or disturbed. It was like they had found that part of Spencer's brain that kept out other outside forces that could wash away their words, tones, and the looks they had when speaking.

"No, they're not," Mr. Yumn agreed, "but this single thing strings some of our others together, giving even more insight, giving more facts on _why_ they're being done, and also showing how everything fits together. That's what we need. Before, each article was just an individual piece of a puzzle, and we weren't even sure if they were all of the _same_ puzzle. _Now_, though, we're getting an image of the bigger picture. I think we should make this into a series. In this issue, we'll put together basic information about the Giltebreks you got from this guy named Austin, the anonymous people, and from that Japanese man. I really want to get this weather control done by this group in, but I want you to find it from other sources besides this Krystle woman. She has great information, but we need other voices on this issue. It's getting late to put it into the upcoming issue, so it'll have to wait until next month. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, sir." Spencer gave a nod, wondering where the heck he'd be able to find other sources for this Giltebreks-controlling-the-weather business. (Though writing a new article every month had its appeals.) He'd have his e-mail and what it was ne needed on the magazine website, but Spencer wasn't completely sure how many people would know enough to please Mr. Yumn.

The tan man put back on his old, grey cap to cover his thinning, raven hair. "Very good. Now, I've got to speak with a couple of others, but I'll let you know later about what kind of specifics I want." He stood up to his full six-foot-five height, making Spencer have to look up to meet his eyes.

"See you later, then, sir." Spencer left the cubicle-sized office, leaving the door open for his boss as he made his way to the elevator. It was a short ride to the ground floor, where Spencer gave a wave to Daphne as he left the building. His phone rang as he strolled over towards his favorite restaurant in Georgetown: World Tour. He usually ate there while doing some work, and he was friends with a large percent of the staff.

It was hot out, so Spencer was glad that he had stuck with just the button-up shirt and slacks. He hadn't bothered with the tie since he hated the stupid things and only wore them every so often, and the fabric was thin enough to keep him from getting overheated. He wiped his forehead, finding it to be somewhat damp, but Spencer knew he'd miss the heat once winter came.

The extremes had become much more noticeable over the years. This made some days in summer reach over one-hundred as if Mother Nature wanted to boil everyone's blood as punishment; some days in winter, in turn, tried for zero or lower as if the Earth had suddenly switched its mind on how to come to an end. There were still those who cried "global warming", but their voices were not as loud as over a decade ago. In Spencer's mind, it could be proven that there was climate change (though he believed it was a natural cycle of the Earth—but then, science wasn't a subject he liked to follow), but if the winters kept going as they were, then the name definitely needed to be changed.

Soon, Spencer reached the restaurant near Georgetown Park. In the center of the iron fence was a four-foot-wide entrance. Standing at the podium in the entrance was Violet, the perky, seventeen-year-old hostess with bleached-blonde, loose curls pulled up into a ponytail.

"Hey, Mr. Walsh!" She gave a wide smile, which was accented by her dimples that reminded Spencer of—

_Stop it,_ he told himself. "Hey, Violet. How's business today?"

"Summers are _always_ busy." Her voice was high in pitch without being screeching, but her overly-peppy tone was the kind that could easily wear out a person when taken in large doses. "I'm not complaining though. Oh! Your table's open. Follow me. Do you already know what you want, or would you like to look a menu?"

"Menu, please." Spencer gave a polite smile as Violet beamed and grabbed one of the menus before going over to the table near the center of the outdoor area with the cobblestone ground. All the tables were outside with pale green and cream-white umbrellas. Violet's stride was more like a skip, despite the stilettos strapped to her small feet.

"Derek will be right over." The teenage girl handed over the menu before skipping back over to the podium, ready to welcome another customer.

Once his briefcase was on the table across from him, he looked over the menu, his eyes immediately going to the Moroccan section. World Tour couldn't fit foods from _everywhere_ on it, so they only had eight sections other than appetizers: Italian, Chinese, Mexican, French, Japanese, Moroccan, Thai, and Greek. Spencer usually ordered Italian or Greek, but he felt like having something new. Every so often, different dishes replaced others on the menu, allowing regulars to try something new.

As Spencer looked over the menu, Derek arrived, dark brown eyes smiling from under his dark hair, which he had to push away with his hand while holding the notepad and pencil. "Good afternoon, Mr. Walsh. Having an early dinner?"

"Yeah, my schedule's been messed up over the past week. Can I have some water?"

"No ice?" Derek smiled, and Spencer gave a nod.

"Exactly."

"Know what you want yet?"

"No, I'm going to keep looking for another minute."

"Sure." The nineteen-year-old stuck the short pencil behind one ear, but the point was nearly lost in his thick locks. "I'll be back soon."

Looking over the options and their prices, Spencer decided on the Roasted Salmon with Mango Salsa. His mom had once made Moroccan food for a dinner with one of his dad's clients, who had brought his wife and young daughter. This, though, was something he hadn't tried before, but it still reminded him of home and the nights when his mom would go above-and-beyond with dinner. Sometimes, Spencer had just wished for something messy or had been nuked in the microwave.

Having to be presentable and sit with fine china and silverware every night with whatever his mom had chosen to fix made it just mundane, even annoying sometimes. Spencer knew his mom had meant for dinner to be special family time, but he was an only child, and having a formal dinner every night just stole whatever special feeling his mom had been trying for. That was why he had always been excited to eat at a friend's house—especially Teddy's. The dinners there sometimes started and ended with a food fight, and there was just so much laughing and liveliness that made Spencer feel welcome (even when PJ or Gabe was making jokes that usually led to Teddy getting out of her seat and chasing them into the living room).

After telling Derek what he wanted, Spencer unlocked his briefcase and took out his detachable laptop screen. He took a sip of his water as he turned it on, going onto his work e-mail. There were some new ones, but Spencer first opened another tab to check his personal e-mail. He read some replies from Julian, Nate, Liam, Dashiell, Carla, and Rochelle. He deleted the messages from Patricia and then moved aside his touchscreen to make room for the plate of food.

"Thank you." Spencer gave an appreciative smile.

"Oh, you know how to thank me."

"Your sister got more money out of you?"

Derek gave a humorless laugh. "Yeah. Blackmailing me for sneaking back in after a _really_ ace party." Derek then left as Spencer shook his head and chuckled. "See ya Mr. Walsh!"

While eating, Spencer went back to his work e-mail, finding something from the address Spencer recognized as the anonymous-guy. He had worn sunglasses and a hat, but Spencer had noticed his light umber skin and the dark curls peeking out from under the wide brim hat. Spencer was willing to respect his privacy though, and he wondered what he had for him this time. He had given ample information during the interview; however, the e-mail only contained a link to some blog.

Spencer set down the fork as he looked over the list of titles for the different entries. It didn't take long for Spencer to realize that every single entry was about the Giltebreks. Usually, Spencer wouldn't pay much attention to the blogs, but it meant something that this specific blog was sent to him by someone he had met in a previous interview. Also, to make things better, Spencer saw that there were _four_ entries already written about the Giltebreks controlling the weather. Spencer saved the site to his favorites, knowing that he'd be looking through it later. There could be valuable information in these entries, and Spencer looked for the name of the blogger, hoping that he'd be able to get an interview.

_Now where…_ _Ah-ha_. Spencer found the name at the bottom of the page. _Clarisse Winston? _

_My friend must be a bird—  
><em>_Because it flies!  
><em>_Mortal, my friend must be—  
><em>_Because it dies!  
><em>_Barbs has it, like a bee!  
><em>_Ah, curious friend!  
><em>_Thou puzzlest me!_

_- "My Friend Must be a Bird" by Emily Dickenson_


	10. SorelyCharged Heart

"_A child educated only at school is an uneducated child." - George Santayana_

"I wasn't a literature major, so sue me," Sierra growled, rubbing her temples as her elbows rested on the table in the library's study area. She had been able to track down books written in English, and she had taken down five different ones—a book of poems, a book of mythology, _The Informant _by Jameson Singer, _Taken at the Flood _by Agatha Christie, and _Water Wars _by Trent Stark. The poems were those by Anna Akhmatova. On each page was the poem written in the Cyrillic alphabet, followed by the English translation. Sierra had been pleasantly surprised to find these works, even if she had never been big on literature—poetry especially. She'd take limits over rhyme schemes any day.

"I've never been into Russian lit anyway," Sierra continued with a sigh as she looked up again, raising an eyebrow at Charlie's suppressed smile. "Yeah, yeah, I don't know everything. Go ahead and laugh." This comment made Charlie snort, her head going down to where her chin touched her chest. "And when you're done, let's turn back to that poem before you read something else. We'll be staying in Victoria until 'bout mid-June, so we should have enough time to go through this, and we'll also go through the history of Seychelles, a country much of the world probably has never even heard of." Sierra smiled. "And we can't forget trig and biology, but we can go over that in the apartment."

Charlie's smile was now forced, her eyes still on the table. "Joy…" She stretched out the word, voice soft, and her head snapped up when she heard Sierra clear her throat. "Yep, it's gonna be _real_ fun!" Charlie gave a toothy smile, her cheeks beginning to hurt.

"Uh-huh." It was obvious Sierra knew that Charlie was lying, so the teenager allowed her smile to fall as she slumped in her chair, still holding onto the book of poems. Sierra continued, "I'm hating that you're making me repeat my parents and old teachers but…," Sierra took a breath, "this is for your own benefit, Charlie. I'm doing what's best for you, regardless of whether you enjoy it or not." The brunette suddenly started shaking her head. "Dang, I sounded like a combination of my mom and ninth grade math teacher." Her eyes met Charlie's. "Please don't make me say something like that again. I once swore to myself that I'd never be like my old teachers, and I don't like to break promises."

This time, Charlie did laugh, and Sierra placed her index finger in front of her lips, signaling for her to be quiet. Charlie placed a hand over her mouth and set the book back onto the table. "Sorry." She removed her hand. "Okay, so we were talking about metaphors?" Charlie waited for her guardian to give a nod. "Um… well, to me, it seems like 'The Last Meeting' is about the end of some sort of relationship, leaving the subject alone and possibly feeling betrayed. In the first stanza, 'I pulled a glove on my right hand— / The one that was meant for my left' is showing her to be pretty out of it, like her mind is disconnected from reality or something. Then she goes on to agree with the autumn whispering for her to die with it. Autumn dying… That means winter is coming, and winter often times symbolizes death…" Charlie hated analyzing poems. She always felt like she was getting everything wrong.

"And the candles? 'In the bedroom the candles were burning / With an indifferent, yellowish glow'," Sierra recited. "What do you think that means?" She decided to refrain from using terminology she did not really understand or had used since her first years in college. She always overanalyzed. Her professors used to tell her not to pick each word and phrase apart, but Sierra couldn't help it. _Senka Divines, please don't let me screw up this sweet girl's brain._

"Um…" Charlie thought for a moment. "I really don't know what Akhmatova's trying to say, but, to me, candles usually give hope—a bit of light in the darkness. Yet, they only provide that _bit_ of light and no more. The sight they give is very limited, and they tend to cast a certain glow that makes people wish they had stayed in the darkness, yet, at the same time, they're too afraid to blow out the flame. That tiny bit of sight seems to provide knowledge that gives a shallow feeling of…" Charlie had to think for a bit. "I guess _not_ being surrounded by the unknown. It's hard to move forward, but it's better than moving back. And the indifferent glow of the candles shows that… again, I have no idea, but it makes me think about my friend Tammi. She suffered from depression, and she seemed to think that she was all alone in her problems. Like, there was no one willing to help her. It seems that this is how the subject feels."

Arms crossed over her chest, Sierra just sat there and smiled for a moment. "I don't know anything about poetry, but that sounds good to me." She then leaned forward over the table and flipped to the next few pages. "Now, read this one a few times and tell me what you think."

Over the next half-hour, the two just looked over the different poems before Sierra had Charlie start on _The Informant_, which the teenager had seemed excited to start reading. Sierra had then picked up _Taken at the Flood_, not wanting to just sit there like an idiot for the next few hours. She had read Agatha Christie books before, including _Ordeal by Innocence_, _The Moving Finger_, and _And Then There Were None_. She got situated in the seat, very conscious of the holstered gun on her left hip. Sierra tried to keep her mind on the words in the book, but she soon realized that she was four pages in and couldn't remember reading anything. It was something that happened often, especially when she was worried. She turned back to page one and tried to read, but the gun on her hip seemed to be whispering to her.

It wasn't something malicious or ominous. It didn't send shivers down her spine or her heart into a thundering gallop. It wasn't entrancing or annoying; it was just… _there_. It was like white noise Sierra rarely even acknowledged anymore. Then, every so often, the noise would tickle her ears, tunneling through her head until it made a burrow into her brain, refusing to leave. It snickered at her, but it sounded almost childish. Sierra gripped the book, short nails digging into the hard cover. The newly-built burrow in her brain interrupted her thoughts, separating all the train cars from one another until her brain resembled one of the first two chapters of _The Sound and the Fury_.

Time was warped to where Sierra wasn't sure if she understood what time even was anymore. The words, phrases, half-sentences, and pictures whirled through her mind. She saw Seán, Ekon, Fallow, Ryan, her mom, dad… and Scarlett. She saw Scarlett lying on the jungle floor, dead. There was a bullet hole in her chest, and her blood-stained hair was circling her head like a dirty and matted halo. Her eyes were wide and lifeless, and her lips were parted, shaped around a final plea for help that had long been stolen from her by the wind.

Slowly letting out a breath Sierra hadn't realized she was holding, she blinked long and hard to try and rid her mind of the one picture that just _had_ to stick to her mind when everything else slipped away so quickly, she wasn't even sure if she had really thought them or not. That image of a dead Scarlett kept invading the sanctity of her mind, the snicker now turning into something darker, cancelling out the earlier white noise. This wasn't from the usual paranoia she felt. The paranoia of getting caught. This was the heart-thumping, sinking, deep, and mind-shattering fear of her sister being dead, the major tragedy unknown to the now-alone woman.

_She's not dead_, Sierra quickly told herself. _Scarlett's too good of an agent to die. She's too tough. If anyone's dead, it's the bastard that even _thought_ about doing her in._ Her heart began to slow, but the cackling seemed to be telling her that it knew she didn't believe her own words. It felt as if liquid nitrogen had been poured into her veins as the image came back, coupled with Sierra's thoughts. However, the cackling fiend twisted her words into something sinister.

_Of course she's dead. I always knew that they would never stop until we were _all_ dead. That's why I have to strike first, starting with the bastard that shot Scarlett. They're all going to die. Them and anyone that's ever stood in my way. Every. Single. One._

The tone was low and drawn out. The voice matched Sierra's to where she couldn't even tell if that was really her thought or not. She took a few breaths, trying to get everything in her mind back into order. Sierra first admitted to herself that she _had_ once thought of just killing every Giltebrek member or follower that crossed her path. She then told herself how counterproductive that would be and how she would be hurting even more than she would be helping. She finally told herself that Scarlett was alive and working to get to Seychelles. She kept away the voice mimicking her thoughts—the voice that called her a killer. The voice that said she was no better than those she wanted to stop.

Taking another deep breath, Sierra tried to slow her heart, which had sped up to a canter, and she realized that she had been turning the pages of her book again. She was now on page twenty-four, but Sierra, once again, could not recall anything she had supposedly read. She tried turning back to the beginning once again, reigning in her thoughts and bringing it all to a stand-still. _My intentions are pure. My intentions are pure._ That became her mantra until the cackler scowled and left her alone once more.

Once that was over, she began to read, but her mind was sent back in time. Thankfully, though, it was not some image fabricated by the part of her imagination completely controlled by fear. It was an actual event from Sierra's senior year in high school, while she was in New York City:

The cafetorium was filled with chatter as Sierra made her way to the stage, her heart pounding wildly. The edges of the index cards dug into her right hand as she tried to make a fist; a few curls that had escaped her braid whispered over her face. The long tables had been draped in white tablecloths, and all of the students and teachers were dressed in formal clothing. Sierra, herself, had shocked everyone by donning a floor-length, strapless dress that hugged her curves. Yet, she hadn't wanted to do anything with her hair other than put it up into a braid, and the only bit of make-up she wore was some eye shadow and lip gloss. Both had been wiped off by then as the time approached for Sierra to make her speech.

The thought of it sent her head spinning. Standing up in her desk in AP Government to argue her views was one thing. Getting up on a _stage_ before three-hundred-plus students was something else! Sierra closed her eyes, thick eyebrows pinched, and she took smaller steps as to not trip over the hem of her pearl grey dress. The spiked heels of her sandals clacked against the tiled floor, slicing through the voices and thundering within Sierra's ears as her heart slowly rose until it was wedged painfully in her throat. It kept pounding there, making her dizzy as her stomach churned and threatened to launch back up her dinner. Sierra stifled the urge to cover her mouth and run to the bathroom. She had her pride, and she wasn't going to let a little bit of stage fright ruin that.

The path from her seat near the back with Jason and Nicole seemed to be going on forever, and Sierra finally opened her eyes to find that she was about to trip over the steps going up onto the stage. She stumbled for a brief second as she went up the steps, quickly regaining her footing. Her heart had then dropped from her throat to her stomach like a piece of lead. A few snickers rose from the crowd as Sierra slowly walked up to the podium and adjusted the microphone—Mrs. Love was short compared to Sierra, standing an inch below her broad shoulders. She watched as the principal went back to the teachers' table, and she ignored the group near the front—the ones that had been snickering at her.

_They don't matter_, thought Sierra. _This is my night. I'm the one who won that contest, and I'm the one with the most volunteer hours._ Sierra took a breath, irritation replacing the fear when she saw everyone returning to their own conversations, completely ignoring her. _To hell with this 'approved' speech, _Sierra thought angrily as she slammed the index cards on top of the podium and scowled. Some of the teachers looked a little nervous, others just looking confused. _Mr. Garcia told me to speak my mind, didn't he? _Sierra swallowed hard as she looked out at the crowd. _Hopefully none of them brought rotten tomatoes… or torches…_

The chattering grated on Sierra's nerves, and her voice rang out, her first words slow as the microphone amplified her voice and carried it throughout the cafetorium. "September eleventh, two-thousand-and-one."

The room fell silent, and all eyes were on Sierra. Mrs. Love's jaw fell, and Mr. Garcia's eyes widened slightly.

Scheiße, thought Sierra. _Senka Divines, help me through this. _"I was in the fourth grade when this happened, living with my mom and sister in Greenwood, South Carolina. I remember my teacher getting the news over the phone. Her cousin worked here in New York City… in the World Trade Center. She left the room in tears, and someone else had to come in. She didn't tell us what had happened. She didn't tell us what was _still_ happening." Sierra felt tears prickling behind her eyes as she returned to that day. "I don't remember much of that school day, except for the crying and nagging sense that something was _very_ wrong.

"That day, I went home with my friend, Taylor. Her dad was in the army, and when we got to her house, her two older brothers, mom, and dad were gathered around the phone in the den. It rings a few minutes after we arrive, and Taylor's dad wasn't on it long. He then turned to us and said that he was leaving for Afghanistan in a week. A couple of months later, I see Taylor sitting on our teacher's lap, crying during snack time, not knowing if her dad was going to come back." Sierra paused. "I still didn't really know what was going on. They only told us that there was an attack on American soil. They told us that there were deaths, but no one went into any real depth about the issue. I guess, to them, it made sense. We were in the fourth grade, and they probably didn't think we'd be able to grasp it all anyway. The next two years, we'd gather around the flag pole on September eleventh and sing songs like 'Proud to be an American'. After that, there may be a few words or a moment of silence, but, other than that, it was treated like any other day.

"I didn't think too much of it, but, whenever I _did_ think about it, that fact just bothered me. Then, in seventh grade, we watched a movie in my history class. Before the movie started, Mr. Lord told us that, if we became too emotional, we were free to walk out into the hallway. There were thirty people in my class, and I saw five people walk out with _tears in their eyes_. I had tears in _my_ eyes, but I _refused_ to leave my desk." Sierra swallowed as her voice cracked. "Watching those people… _ordinary people_… _sacrifice their lives_"—Sierra had to swallow again—"for us. Who _knows_ where that plane could have crashed if not for these heroes! That movie made me want to learn more. Then, Mr. Lord walked in one day after the bell rang. It was the day after we had finished watching that movie. He pointed at the flag hanging above the board and asked us a seemingly simple question: 'Are you willing to risk your life for this flag? Are you willing to risk your life to protect what this flag stands for?'

"I wanted to stand up and shout, 'Hell yeah!'" Sierra paused again. "But then I thought about it. I realized that… I didn't know. I just didn't know. I thought about Taylor's dad. I thought about how he had been willing to take that risk. He came back home by the way, but there was always… that chance." Her voice fell to a whisper, and she cleared her throat. "I didn't see very many people taking that question as seriously as I did. How many people here take those words seriously every morning when we say the pledge? How many people in here actually feel moved when singing our national anthem? Are these just motions we go through before going through the meaningless things we've made important?

"I'm reminded of the stories my mom told me of her home before she came to live in America. Stories I had always just thought to be a ploy to make me do my chores and get me to listen to her. It was that _one_ question from Mr. Lord that put things into perspective for me. I'd always been ambitious. I'd always wanted to be a success. I had the drive, but I didn't have the map, the destination, or any true motivation other than my own need to, not just win, but go farther than what my feeble imagination could come up with. Right then, a light flickered on, showing what path I'd been following and actually let me _see_ that that was where I wanted to go. I had already known that it was my path, but I didn't know _why_. It was just a path that seemed expected of me. I was blind, deaf, and thoughtless. I was a zombie, walking aimlessly. Now, I can see, hear, and think for myself.

"That's what we should _all_ be doing! _Thinking for ourselves_! Isn't that what they told us over and over from kindergarten to fourth grade? 'You can be whatever you want to be if you try' and 'You just need to learn to be yourself'. What happened to that? High school is _full_ of zombies right now! They tell us to be ourselves in elementary school, and, then once in high school, they tell us, 'Oh, no, you're not doing this right' and _rip_ the rug of individuality right from under us, leaving only the hard, cold floor of conformity! Where's _our_ freedom? Where's _our_ choice? Aren't we the future? Isn't that why we're here right now? To celebrate how _the future_ is helping out by working at soup kitchens, hospitals, shelters, and loads of other volunteer places? So, why are we, the future, thrown onto a path that would force us to follow those same mistakes we're supposed to help fix and solve? Does our society fear change _that_ much?" Sierra paused, conscious of Mrs. Love motioning for her to get off of the stage.

Yet, Sierra still had something to say, and, at this point, she didn't even care if she got expelled (though she highly doubted her speech was grounds for expulsion). If even just _one_ person listened to her words, then she had done right.

"Now, I'm not completely dogging society. Conformity has been taken too far, but 'What's bad for the hive is bad for the bee,' right? But that's _way_ different than the queen putting a knife to the bee's throat, demanding, not just obedience, but our lives at her feet. What happened to individuality? What happened to our passions? What happened to our _souls_? We're so busy doing what we've been _told_ society needs, we haven't stopped to think about what _we believe_ society needs! What _we_ can provide! Why _we've_ been put on this sad excuse for a planet!"

A guy in the back shouted, "Amen!" When the teachers turned around to see who had said that, he quickly hid himself in the crowd around him. It made one corner of Sierra's mouth curl up into a smirk. A few other students clapped, giggled, or both.

Taking a breath, Sierra continued. "Everyone here should be smart enough to know that there ain't ever gonna be such a thing as 'utopia'. Humans, by nature, are selfish and greedy. Now, even you bleeding-heart liberals gotta agree with me on that. Sorry, Mrs. Love, but you're gonna have to come up here and knock me unconscious if you want me to fork over this microphone."

Everyone turned to look at Mrs. Love, who had been motioning harshly for Sierra to get off the stage. She suddenly stopped and sank in her seat, glaring at Sierra, who ignored the look.

"Here it is: We've all had blinders shoved on our heads to give us tunnel vision—only see what our 'guides' want us to see. We are able to rip them off at any time, but then we find ourselves alone in the cruel wilderness of life. Life is war. War is hell. We then have three choices. One is to stand alone and only trust ourselves—every man for himself. There's one problem with that: Life will behead you before you even get the chance to raise your sword. The second choice is to stand back and let another fight for you as you cower—rich man's war; poor man's fight, if you will. Well, the person you tricked into guarding your ass faces the exact same problem as choice number one! Then, _you're_ left all alone, _weak_ and _defenseless_!

"Finally, we got the third choice. You can find allies and _stand_ _together_. Where you're weak, someone's strong. Where someone's weak, _you're_ strong. A few may get picked off by life's cold blade, but at least you'll advance! It's like Dr. King said: 'We're not where we want to be, and we're not where we're going to be. But we are sure a long way from where we were.' That quote does not just apply to civil rights. It applies to _all_ of us, and our fight through life! If we stand together, someone will eventually make it to the end to finally see the peace. We just need to get rid of our tunnel vision so we can _find_ our great allies!

"I've already thrown off my blinders. I did it in seventh grade when Mr. Lord asked my class that question. But I'm alone here, and life's whipping my ass! I need allies to join me in this fight, and everyone else that's burned their blinders needs allies too! Now stand up so we can build this army! I say it's time we overthrow this queen that's been oppressing us workers! I say it's time we take back our ideas, thoughts, and _souls_! I say it's time we take back our passions instead of sitting by passively! I say it's time we take life by its chains and do what we were told to do before! We _can _do whatever we dream if we believe and work for it! We _can _make our society better and _fix_ the mistakes our tyrant is _making_ _us_ _repeat_! Who's with me?"

**xxx**

Finally closing her book, Sierra sighed, wondering why _that_ specific memory just had to invade her mind. She had given that speech not long after some people had started calling her "Heartless Bitch," and she had worked as hard as she could with volunteering to try and prove them wrong. Sierra thought about this and opened her eyes, realizing that Charlie had been watching her.

"Wanna talk about it?"

_Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,  
><em>_Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before  
><em>_But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,  
><em>_And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 'Lenore!'  
><em>_This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 'Lenore!'  
><em>_Merely this and nothing more.  
><em>_- "The Raven" (stanza 5) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	11. Grief That Does not Speak

**I do not own "School's Out" by Alice Cooper. **

"_Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." - Elizabeth Stone_

Blinking awake from her light sleep, Teddy turned off her near-dead iPod (it only stayed charged for up to five or six hours now) and looked out the window as the flight attendant announced that they were a mere half-hour away from the Denver International Airport. A smile touching her lips, Teddy thought about seeing her family. It had been sad at the airport in Vienna. Lena and her mother had cried, and even David had given her a long hug, wishing her well on her quest to find Charlie. Teddy had thanked him for his help and then shook Herr Mayr's hand.

Leonie and Catherine both had nearly choked her with hugs, and there had been tears in Catherine's crystal blue eyes. Sebastian and Luke had also embraced her, wishing her well. They all had promised to keep in touch, and Teddy had knelt down by Lena, promising to write her letters. The small girl only then had offered a small smile, once again clinging to Teddy's neck before Frau Mayr laughed and took her away. Teddy had given them one last smile and wave before boarding her plane, trying (and failing) not to cry. It had been like leaving her family. She was going to miss all of them, but the thoughts of seeing her mom, dad, and brothers raised Teddy's spirits.

Looking down, Teddy nudged her purse with her foot. In it were the sketchbook, notebook, and papers. She was so close to finding Charlie. She could feel it. It had been nearly four weeks since Teddy had made it her mission to find Charlie, and, between her duties as an au pair and being dragged across Vienna by her friends, Teddy had surfed through five different websites on the history of Kenya, and had stared at an atlas until her eyes nearly popped right out of her skull.

She had written down different facts she felt were important, as well as different words or phrases that could be clues hidden within Letter 13. She had gotten less time as June approached, her four good friends wanting to spend as much time with her as they could before she had to leave for Colorado. They brought her to a number of clubs, Catherine and Leonie helping her with her dancing (it had gotten much better since tenth grade); Sebastian taking her to a couple of bars, though she never drank more than one glass of anything as to not get in trouble with either Frau or Herr Mayr; and Luke just taking her around the city.

Still, Teddy spent as much time as she could on her project. The longest amount of sleep she had ever gotten in those four weeks was four-and-a-half hours. She was reminded of this when she slept through nearly the entire flight, the epic guitar solo in "Love Me, Hate Me" by Escaping Love rousing her hours later.

The older man sitting to her left still had not awoken, and Teddy was glad that he wasn't a chatterbox like the guy on the plane on her way _to_ Vienna. It was nice to be left alone—just her and her music. No thoughts or cruel dreams had interrupted her, either. There was only the comfort of darkness and music on all spectrums of genre and emotion. There was no thinking, only feeling. Teddy had needed that after the major headache plaguing her for two years.

Even though her iPod was now off, Teddy's mind was still full of music, some of her own compositions filling her head. The pink iPod went into her purse as piano and voice filled her ears, and she almost laughed at the hilarity of her "great works that would, someday, make her famous".

Like PJ, Teddy had a musical gift, though it was her voice, rather than instrumental. She had taken piano at one point, but the teacher had annoyed her, so she quit after a year and proceeded to teach herself on a cheap keyboard her mom had found at a yard sale. She didn't play it as often as she should have, her skills only a little better than mediocre. Still, she worked to write songs, wanting them all to be upbeat, happy, and making the listener to want to get up and dance. Her professor in college had helped, but Teddy later realized that she needed to choose a new major and career path. She had stayed in music another year though, until she finally found something she was sure she wanted to do.

As the music floated through her mind, Teddy was vaguely aware of time ticking by. Before she knew it, the voice of the perky flight attendant came on once again: "Attention passengers, we are now approaching the Denver International Airport. Please put your seats and trays in their upright, locked positions, and put on your seatbelts. We will be landing shortly, and thank you for flying with Explorer Airlines."

Yawning, Teddy did as asked and woke up the man beside her to tell him that they were about to land. He gave her a quick "Thank you" as he ran his fingers through his greying, light brown hair and brought his seat back up. Teddy then reached into her purse to get out a piece of gum, wanting to prepare for the earache she was sure to endure as they lowered towards the earth.

**XXX**

"School's out for summer / School's out forever / School's been blown to pieces…" PJ sang along as he drove back to his apartment, enjoying his all-time favorite season. The students had been celebrating for a while now, but PJ and the other teachers still had several things to do before they could start their own countdown.

It looked like Donald's sixteen-year-old son was having another party, so many of the parking places were taken. PJ swore quietly under his breath as he searched for an empty space. He finally found one after a couple of moments, and, of course, it had to be the _farthest one_ away from his building. That's how things always seemed to work out for PJ, so he just shook his head, put his iPod into his pocket, and headed towards his apartment after remembering to lock the car door.

With keys in his hand, PJ sauntered towards the grey-bricked building, which had an iron _M_ bolted to the side. He passed by the party, some people dancing out the door due to there not being enough room in the apartment. Mrs. Jones from the apartment above the party was shouting at them for quiet—they woke up her granddaughter, apparently—and PJ just waved up at her as he passed by.

His apartment on the second story, PJ went to the far staircase and looked up. Before he even made it to the first step, he froze, seeing Jo on the balcony, looking down at him with a neutral look. A white headband kept her wavy hair out of her clear face, and the tresses cascaded down an inch above her narrow waist. Her sunglasses were lowered on the bridge of her small nose, allowing PJ to meet her eyes. She re-crossed her legs as she sat on the chair by the door, watching as PJ finally made his way up the stairs. She stood up when PJ approached her, but a frown line appeared when she had to look up at him. Jo wasn't very short compared to most girls, but she still stood only just an inch above PJ's shoulders.

"Jo?" Even if he was taller, PJ still felt uneasy around Jo most of the time. She was a third-degree black belt with an anger problem (whatever happened to martial arts teaching discipline and control?). "I didn't see your bike." She also rode an electric blue BMW K1600GT, which gave her extra badass points in PJ's book.

"I took a taxi," she replied. "My bike's in the shop, and Gabe needed the car for work." She leaned up against the white railing, not meeting PJ's eyes. This made the older man worried. Jo normally went straight to what it was she wanted to speak about—up to the point of sounding rude most times. It wasn't like her to be hesitant, and it made PJ even more worried than if she had been yelling at him with a knife in her hand.

"Wanna come in?" PJ went over to the dark blue door and unlocked the deadbolt.

The key got stuck in the door knob lock (again) as Jo answered, "Sure."

PJ finally yanked the key out of the lock and opened the door, letting Jo through with a "ladies first" gesture. This time, Jo didn't roll her eyes at the polite act and just silently strolled over to the couch. She plopped down into one of the cushions, and PJ slammed the door shut as he went through the swinging door into the kitchen. "I'm just going to get a chair," he called. "Want something to drink?"

"No thanks," Jo called back, and PJ grabbed one of the straight-backed chairs as he tossed his ring of keys onto the circular table.

"What's going on?" PJ dragged the chair into the living room and sat in front of Jo, watching as she took off her sunglasses and set them onto the armrest.

The woman of twenty-four years was quiet for a bit as she readjusted her headband. Finally, she just took it off, brow wrinkled. "Man, I hate this thing," she muttered as she shook her hair out, allowing it to flow over her ears and cover her barbell and gold hoops. "There's something wrong with Gabe."

"And you're just figuring this out _now_?" Was it the smoking again? PJ knew they always fought over that. "_How_ long have you two been living together?"

Jo shot a death glare, and PJ coughed, understanding it as his signal to shut up.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "He's been quieter lately—and you of all people should know that that's a red flag—and he's been just watching me for periods of time. It gets a little creepy sometimes, and he doesn't know I know."

"Why don't you just tell him to stop?"

"I thought about punching him in the face—"

"Don't you ever just _talk_ about stuff?"

Jo ignored him, which PJ had anticipated. "—but then I realized he looked… sad. Guilty. I've tried to trick him into talking about it, but he hasn't fallen for anything. He _always_ falls for stuff. You two are probably the most gullible and easiest to trick out of everyone in the world!"

"Hey!"

"Oh, come on. You know it's true."

Sighing, PJ shook his head. Well, at least she was insulting him. That made him a little less nervous. "Well, we've all been feeling weird since—"

"Weirder than that," Jo interrupted abruptly. She may not have been attached to Charlie as much as PJ, but it was obvious that she had been just as affected by the disappearance. "He'd been bad after that, but now… I don't know. It's like there's something eating him up inside. I understand not wanting to talk about it. I've been more of a fight-it-out type of person myself, but I don't think Gabe's found a way to deal with whatever it is—and I'm _sure_ it's more than just… that."

She didn't need to elaborate, and PJ was thankful for her not doing so. They had all learned how to deal with it over the two years, but this was a type of hurt that would never completely go away. They could learn how to ease the pain. They could learn how to move on with their lives. They couldn't learn how to forget, but PJ felt that Charlie should never be forgotten. Hope, no matter how miniscule, would survive, and PJ was willing to carry her memory with him no matter how much it nagged at that hole in his heart. It wasn't broken. It just needed to heal. Time wouldn't do it. Time couldn't heal squat. Only PJ and how he carried on forward would determine how his heart healed.

"You don't expect _me_ to talk to him, do you?" PJ had never been that close to his little brother. They shared a room as kids, and they cared for each other. Yet, it had mostly been on a help-each-other-sneak-a-free-TV-into-their-room, try-to-nail-their-neighbor-as-a-murderer, and covering-for-the-other-when-one-had-snuck-out sort of level. There usually hadn't been much talking.

Gabe wasn't the only one not good at sharing feelings. That was what PJ had his music for.

"Of course not." Jo gave one of her signature "You're a huge idiot" looks. "I just want to know if you know anything. Anything that could be making him act like this. It just looks like he's…" Jo searched for the right thing to say. "It's like he's… and he's just thinking over everything, remembering everything and everyone that… _cares_ about him."

PJ didn't need to ask about the part she omitted. It didn't sound like something Gabe would do, but PJ could understand Jo's fear. She'd had a friend commit suicide in middle school. It was natural that she couldn't stand the thought of someone else she loved (PJ didn't care she wouldn't use that word) take his own life. Now, the blond man eased his muscles, finally understanding in full the source of Jo's odd character.

Taking this fear to heart, PJ really started thinking. He cared about Gabe too, and he was now very curious to what may be causing Jo's worries. Unfortunately, PJ hadn't seen Gabe since last weekend. He suddenly remembered his younger brother acting weird then as well. It had been subtle, but PJ remembered catching Gabe staring out the window, checking his watch (and since when did he have a watch?), and being slightly more scatter-brained than usual. These were things no one had really paid much attention to—except Jo.

There had to be something big on Gabe's mind. Then, suddenly, PJ thought he understood, and he stifled a huge smile, knowing that Jo had never cared for sentiment or anything even slightly romantic.

"I have no idea."

**XXX**

The sight of Teddy breaking from the large crowd brought a smile to Bob's face. His left hand rested on Amy's shoulder, and he brought her close as Teddy looked up, spotting her parents. She stopped for a fraction of a second, surprised, before breaking out in a large smile and running over to them.

For that moment, Bob saw Teddy as fifteen again. Her loose curls were long, almost to her waist, rather than just below her shoulders, and she had that wide smile that always brightened a room. His usually-bubbly daughter was a carefree teenager again as she ran up to them, giving the two of them tight hugs. When they all broke away from each other, Teddy's image flickered back to the somewhat-sophisticated twenty-eight-year-old—twenty-nine come late August. That smile was still there, but it seemed not to have the same effect as when she was younger. It did not reach her eyes—not quite. There was happiness there, but there was also exhaustion and something else Bob could not quite place.

"Oh, baby, I missed you so much!" Amy latched back onto Teddy, and Bob gave a laugh as Teddy's smile grew, even more happiness coming to her eyes. Still, Bob could not help but notice the exhaustion lingering behind the shield of mirth.

_She's just jetlagged_, he told himself. "Honey, let go. I don't think Teddy would want to choke to death her first minute back in Denver."

Amy then let go but gave Teddy a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad you're home! You have to tell us all about your trip."

"Okay, Mom," Teddy laughed. "Let's go get my suitcase first, though." She adjusted her purse, keeping it in front of her. She looked to be protecting it like a treasure chest. Bob didn't think too much of it as they strolled over to the correct carousel, thinking that she was just worried about pickpockets. Living in a big city, that was an understandable precaution.

"We know what your suitcase looks like, sweetie," stated Bob. "You might want to exchange your euros for dollars. How much do you have on you right now?" He hadn't been entirely clear about the payment of an au pair, and he wasn't incredibly sure about how it worked if they were paying her in euros.

"Not much," answered Teddy, still smiling. "I normally had my pay transferred into my account. I only kept enough on me to go shopping and stuff." She kissed Bob on the cheek. "Thanks, Dad. I won't be long." She then left to find the exchange counter as the alarm on the carousel sounded, alerting everyone that the baggage was on its way. Sure enough, the belt began to move in seconds, suitcases, duffle bags, and packages coming onto the belt, waiting for their owners to claim them.

"Almost five-hundred euros a month for two years," murmured Amy, smoothing her honey-toned hair she had styled into perfect waves. "She did pretty good." She stared at where the bags were coming out, no doubt waiting for the large, pink-and-black suitcase with a guitar iron-on patch (put on my PJ when he was nineteen) on the front.

"How much is that in dollars?" Bob asked. He watched for the suitcase that should have been replaced years ago.

"I don't want to do the math," Amy sighed, "but one euro gets you… one-ten I think. The dollar's been getting stronger, so it may be a little less, but I don't know for sure."

"That's still really good." Bob gave a nod. "Teddy said she also wanted to work part-time while finishing up to get her masters, right?" He had been trying harder to keep tabs on his kids, i.e. birthdays, where they go to college (or work), what they're doing, where they're going, _et cetera_. He had started when Gabe got arrested in tenth grade, which had been just as big of a wake-up call for Bob as it had been for Gabe.

"Yeah," Amy answered. "She wanted to work part-time at a department store in the mall, but she hadn't been sure if she'd have the time."

Bob gave a nod as he pulled Amy close to him. "Well, as long as she can keep up with that partial scholarship for her tuition and books, I don't mind paying for the rest."

Amy smiled, leaning into her husband's embrace. Bob held onto her tightly, feeling like she was using him to grasp to the Earth. He had felt so helpless when she had spiraled into that horrible depression when Charlie went missing. She had started to get a little better, but it wasn't like when a child died. That was too horrible for words, but what the two of them had gone through was torture so great, no language had a grand enough vocabulary to describe how their souls seemed to melt as their hearts hardened, cutting off circulation and making their lungs turn to ice, cutting off their air and making it feel as if they could never become warm again. It was a perpetual blizzard of torment neither one could hardly grasp with emotion, let alone thought.

Parents should never have to bury their child, but, at least then, there's closure. There was no closure for Bob and Amy. They were left in the harsh blizzard, trapped in the place where the sun, moon, and stars refused to provide them with any light, strength, or hope. There were a number of theories of the disappearance, a major one by the police being she simply ran away for some reason.

That was a theory Bob refused to accept.

"Bob," Amy's voice roused him from his thoughts, "there's Teddy's suitcase." She wiggled out of her husband's hold and grabbed onto the handle of the suitcase, heaving it onto the floor with Bob's help. "Whoa, did she pack rocks in here?" Amy grunted.

"Feels like she got those gifts PJ and Gabe had been asking about," Bob chuckled. No matter what age, it felt like his two sons were perpetually stuck in childhood when it came to the prospect of presents.

When Amy smiled, Bob saw that, like Teddy, it never quite reached her sapphire eyes. That passion and fire he had fallen in love with all those years ago seemed to have died, and Bob wished that he could bring it back. He had already known that no one in his family would return to normal, but he didn't realize that it would be so hard to just simply become happy again. He seemed to be doing better than Amy and Teddy, but he knew that it was a front he had long since taken up as the protector and provider of the household.

Instead of just bringing home the paychecks for the groceries and bills, however, he was also working to bring back the hope and security they had not realized they had been so dependent on. Amy had gone back to work eighteen months ago, needing to help pay the bills, but she seemed almost robotic when getting up, getting dressed, and going off to work. Bob no longer felt the passion behind her kisses. It was an icy dagger twisting in his heart every time he met his wife's eyes.

He knew that she still loved him very much. He knew that she was trying desperately to cling back to the passion and desire they had had for each other since high school. Unfortunately, antidepressants could not bring back the feeling of desire. They could not bring back hope. They could only make her numb. They quieted her depression, but she was still nowhere near true happiness.

It had been so long since Bob had seen that smile that often melted his heart and made him want nothing but her. It was the smile that had made him first notice her—when she had, for once, taken off that Whammy costume and laughed, the sound like beautiful wind chimes to his ears. He had not fallen in love at that moment. Love had come much later—their senior year when Bob saw how much spirit and energy she had. She was contagious, her spirit spreading without her even knowing or trying. Bob missed that. He even missed her just yelling at him and being over-competitive with other moms.

As Amy sat up Teddy's suitcase, Bob watched her, remembering when she punched him in the stomach over and over when she was going into labor with PJ, shrieking and blaming him for the pain she was in. She had been covered in sweat, and her voice had been like that of a banshee's. Her punches had been like that of a professional boxer despite her position, and she had kept screaming over and over, "I can't believe you did this to me! If you think I'm going through this again, you're _nuts_!"

During all four births, Amy had proven herself to have a very colorful vocabulary and a very strong arm. Her shouts would then turn into tears and shuttering giggles as she gazed at the newborn baby. That wonderful smile always claimed her face as she held the infant, Bob watching, any pain Amy had given him fading away. She'd give the miracle a small kiss on the forehead and whisper loving words. It had been a beautiful sight each time.

"Bob," Amy's voice roused him from his thoughts, "Teddy's on her way back. Help me get this to the truck, will ya?"

Smiling, Bob took the suitcase as Teddy arrived. "Sure, honey. Come on Teddy. Let's head home."

**xxx**

Sighing, Teddy stared at the clothes and bags lying in her suitcase. Unpacking was the worst part of every trip. She threw the bags onto her bed and threw the dirty clothes onto the floor, which was the majority of them. She then stuffed the rest of the clothes into a drawer and set her make-up bag on her dresser, by the mirror. She cleaned everything up quickly, wanting to get it all over with. She then sorted the paper bags on her desk, looking in most of them. After finding the one she wanted, she pulled out the hat she had gotten at the amusement park in Vienna as well as a necklace with a silver edelweiss charm. She placed them onto her bed and took off her purse, dropping it onto the floor.

"I'm home…" It felt bittersweet, and her smile felt strained.

Teddy knelt down and opened her purse. She plugged in her iPod to the charger and got out the notebook, sketchbook, and assorted papers.

"I'm close, Charlie. I can feel it."

She went over to the dresser and took out the bottom drawer completely. She placed the items in her hands on the bottom of the dresser to where they would be hidden by the drawer. Before putting it back, Teddy went to get the money in her purse. It was a fairly thick bundle, but Teddy still had to exchange more than half of it—she hadn't wanted to pull out nearly six-thousand euros in the middle of the airport. Teddy had never just had the money put into her account, except for her first two paychecks. She knew it was incredibly stupid, but she didn't really trust having all of her money in a bank. She kept some money in there, sure, but she always kept an emergency stash of a several-thousand dollars hidden somewhere.

The money hidden, Teddy put the drawer back in place. She then snatched up the hat and necklace before heading out to the kitchen. Objects in hand, she walked slowly, her movements more like a shuffle. It was getting harder to move on. She was happy to be home, but, at the same time, she wished she had just stayed away. No matter how much she had thought of Charlie while in Vienna, reading those letters, this house amplified all of those painful emotions by one-thousand. It was killing Teddy, but, as she neared the kitchen, she forced a bright smile as she presented the gifts.

_A door just opened on a street-  
><em>_I, lost, was passing by-  
><em>_An instant's width of warmth disclosed  
><em>_And wealth, and company._

_The door as sudden shut, and I,  
><em>_I, lost, was passing by,-  
><em>_Lost doubly, but by contrast most,  
><em>_Enlightening misery._

_- "A Door Just Opened On A Street" by Emily Dickenson_


	12. Though Hope is Frail, Its Hard to Kill

_**"Dum spiro spero" means "While I breathe, I hope". This chapter's title comes from "When You Believe" by Celtic Woman, which I do not own. I also do not own "Art of War" by Sabaton.**_

"_Dum spiro spero." - Motto of South Carolina_

Helios seemed to halt his chariot for a moment before allowing it to sink slowly over the horizon as if he wanted to view the scene that had seemed to stop all but time. Orange and magenta leaked over the green and black of the wilderness miles away from the towering wall and concrete floor. The rust-colored bricks held old blood in their crevices, waiting to catch more drops for their collection. It was the only wall for miles around, leering over the ten girls standing in a straight line just two feet before it.

They were evenly spaced with their feet pressed firmly onto the concrete. All ten girls were the same height and body shape, standing silently. They looked to be crafted from shadow, the light from the gaping sun filtering lightly through them. Each held a different item in her hands, all of their heads down slightly as if bowing to the taller, more solid shadow that stood five feet before them. This shadow had a large gun held slung over one shoulder, and it turned a few degrees, watching as the magenta and orange retreated. Helios made way for Selene, her chariot a mere sliver of pale white that gave scanty light for the scene.

One by one, the stars speckled the dark sky, resembling the diamond tears of Nyx as she looked upon the scene unfolding below her. The shadow then turned back to the ten girls and readied its gun. It aimed for the first girl on the left, who was barely visible in the shroud of night. The shadow then snapped its fingers, and the mortar of the wall began to glow pale white, illuminating the ten shadowy girls. They lowered their heads another degree in unison, looking ready to kneel and cry for mercy. A few drops of water fell from the first girl, coming from where her eyes should be. The drops sizzled upon hitting the concrete, and she clutched the stuffed horse in her arms more tightly.

A sharp **bang** echoed, and she fell to the ground instantly, long hair splayed out around her head. The second girl did not even look up as the gun moved in her direction. She merely clutched the daisy's stem more tightly as another shot rang out. The white petals were suddenly stained in red as she fell next to the first, their blood joining to form a pool of deep crimson. It looked almost like a fountain of rubies trickling from the two girls' chests in the pale white light coming from the wall.

The third girl trembled slightly, holding on to the blanket that had been draped over her body and around her arms. There was only a sharp intake of breath as she collapsed, the bullet lodged in her chest. The edges of the amber-gold cloth began to drown in the snarling red. The sight brought a chuckle from the gunman, a strip of white cutting across its inky face where the mouth should be. With the fifth **pop**, the pearly-white grew a degree. The next girl in line had fallen, the green bills she had been holding flying around her as if trying to escape the death plaguing the area.

Once all of the money had landed back onto the ground, the gun fell upon the sixth girl, who let out a suppressed sob. It was quickly cut off as she, too, was shot in the chest, the oval mirror in her hands landing inches away from her outstretched fingers. The glass cracked upon hitting the concrete, the girl's blood beginning to seep through the fractures.

The girl next to her did not make a sound or made any move to mourn her fallen comrades. Only a single tear showed her sorrow and fear, and, as it fell, it morphed into a diamond. Only, it shattered like glass upon hitting the ground. Once it had fragmented, a bullet lodged into her chest, and she crumpled to the floor. Still in her arms was a designer jacket, blood getting all over the cream-colored fabric.

The eighth girl held a pink-red, heart-shaped pillow. She held it tightly to her chest when number seven had fallen. She whimpered, her nails digging into the soft cloth. A number of tiny feathers fluttered into the air as the bullet went through it, and the pillow quickly morphed into a beating, human heart as the girl fell. The heart rolled away from her hand and ceased beating. The ninth girl shrieked when she saw the heart, another bullet quickly silencing her. A green, pillar candle rolled away from her outstretched hand. Tied around the candle was a white ribbon that sparkled in the light until the trickling of snickering rubies crawled into the threads to corrupt its purity.

At the fall of her last friend standing, the tenth girl looked up at the shadow before her. Her hands tightened around the shaft of her microphone, and her head lowered slightly as if she were glaring at the gunman with deep hatred. The gunman seemed to falter, its sick grin falling slightly. After that moment, though, it pulled the trigger, but the tenth girl used her microphone like a bat, knocking the bullet away.

With much more speed that it had when leaving the barrel of the gun, the bullet sliced through the air with a high-pitched whistle and imbedded itself into the gunman's head, right between where its eyes would be. The shadow fell to the ground, the gun landing inches away from its hand. The girl then stood up straighter, the transparent black of her body melting away as she kissed her microphone.

As the black melted away, Charlie was left, thin eyebrows knitted together and casting shadows over her eyes. A breeze lifted her hair, and she held the microphone up towards the sky as if in offering. The nine other girls then rose and quickly joined together in a thundering sound before falling to the ground once more to become Charlie's shadow, the blood fading into nothing but a cruel memory. The breeze grew in strength, and Charlie brought the microphone back down, carefully cradling it in her hands like a newborn. The silver of the moon then began to grow as the light from the walls dimmed. The stars twinkled as if dancing in the sky, and Charlie smiled.

"You can't take my voice."

**xxx**

Gasping, Charlie's eyes snapped open, and she found herself on the floor next to the couch. Judging by the pain in her right shoulder and upper back, Charlie guessed that she had fallen onto the floor not too long ago. She groaned and sat back up, actually feeling rested for the first time in what had seemed like forever. One arm on the couch, Charlie pulled herself up into a sitting position, hearing Sierra listen to her music in the other room. Whereas Scarlett's music selection had been full of New Age, light rock, pop, R&B, and soul, Sierra was all about metal and rock. Charlie had always preferred Scarlett's playlists, but the first part of this song wedged itself into Charlie's brain, mingling with her odd dream.

"_If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles,  
><em>_If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained, you will also suffer a defeat,  
><em>_If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb to every battle…"_

The song reminded her of the shadow-clad gunman in her dream. Charlie was sure it represented the Giltebreks, shooting her down. They had killed her childhood, innocence, security, luxury, identity, heart, and peace. Charlie would rather be damned than let them kill her voice as well. Yet, she could never put a face to the group. Sure, she had seen grainy pictures taken of people caught at the different meetings, but there was no actual face like in a comic book or movie where she could easily picture the villain. With the Giltebreks, however, Charlie only knew the basics of their plans—the big picture. She didn't know the specific details on how the plan would be carried out.

She knew herself but not the enemy.

She barely knew herself.

Charlie was not sure how she was supposed to help bring the defeat of the Giltebreks if she only knew the minimum. She knew both Ekon and Seán were trying their hardest to get all the information she needed to fight back against the Giltebreks, but she still felt like she wasn't doing enough. This alone was dangerous, but Charlie felt like that only typing and sending the drafts to others to post online on her blog was hiding within her safe zone. Charlie didn't like feeling like a coward. Her mom always told her that, even as a baby, Charlie always had a nose for adventure. She was the little trouble-maker who had been the top of her toddler karate class. She would also scare her mom half to death by climbing up on the banister to slide down the rail or onto the kitchen counter to see if she could jump from place to place without touching the floor—needless to say, Charlie had gotten her first broken bone when she was only three.

Smiling at the somewhat-fuzzy memory, Charlie stretched to crack her back. Pain pulsed in her shoulder and upper back again, but the intensity had already begun to ebb. She turned to look out the window, brow furrowed in thought. Charlie was a fighter. She may have had to quit karate when she was seven (they were tight on money), but she had the will and determination to keep going no matter the stakes.

Cory had once told her, "You're so brave, you're beginning to borderline stupid."

Well, Charlie had gotten smarter over the years. She had been playing this game by _their _rules for too long. She couldn't stand being the mouse anymore. It was time to fight back. But how? She couldn't just burst into one of their meetings and start shooting. One, she would never make it to the door. Two, she'd die before getting any kind of productive work done. Three, they'd _win_. Charlie had always been just as competitive as she was brave. She _hated_ to lose. Dying at the hands of those (for lack of better word) monsters was the equivalent of losing in Charlie's mind. She had to think of something to do to defeat the Giltebreks and stop having to live in fear—stop having to feel guilty about leaving her family.

"_Hence to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence,  
><em>_Supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting."_

The song ended and switched to something loud with a wailing guitar and competing drums before the singer finally came in, almost having to yell to be heard over the instruments. It made Charlie sigh as her head lowered into her hands, elbows propped up on her knees. Sandy hair fanned around her, several inches shorter than before, making her feel a bit off. Charlie had finally cut her hair to her shoulders to get rid of the split ends and have her head feel lighter. She blinked hard as the shadow of her hair shielded her face. She kept telling herself that there was still hope.

It couldn't elude her forever.

**XXX**

Her heart still hammered within her chest as she flashed a smile and took back the New Zealand passport she had gotten in the black market in Kenya. It was stuffed into the pocket of her jeans, and Scarlett, once again, felt her smile falter when she realized her gun was no longer there. Along with working her fingers to the bone at different odd jobs willing to hire people (whether citizens or not), Scarlett had been forced to also trade in her Beretta 92 FS (plus the suppresser) as well as the GM S&W sigma and her combat knife to get the New Zealand passport, which had been the cheapest one from an English-speaking country that she could find. This made it to where she had to disguise her Southern drawl as an accent she was sure would have _never_ fooled someone actually from that land. Luckily, the man at the booth had believed her, but Scarlett still wanted to keep her mouth shut whenever possible.

Moving to the side upon reaching the sidewalk, Scarlett opened the map she had gotten on the ship. She sighed, remembering how she had found Tatum, his skin tinted with the grey of death. There had been a hole in the side of his head, and his storm grey eyes had been hooded and dull. With tears in her eyes, Scarlett had taken his Heckler and Koch Mark 23 and suppresser, weaved large leaves together in a way to make what resembled a sled, and placed his lifeless body on top of it.

Scarlett had then taken the GM S&W sigma from the deceased, dark-haired Wizard that had murdered Tatum. Scarlett kicked the man's head in anger before breaking down and crying. Tatum had been like a brother. She had lain next to him, her hand brushing over his stubble. Blood smeared over the palm of her hand, and Scarlett whispered a prayer, asking Shanta, Divine of Death, to watch over his soul and Tikara, Guardian of Guidance, to lead Tatum's soul into the Realm of the Blessed.

Scarlett had then taken Tatum's body to the stream to clean him and have him buried. She had apologized for not having the candles or sage, and she had placed a mango on the grave, hoping that it would be just as good as an apple. She had wished him well on his trip to the afterlife and dried her tears before heading to Mombasa so she could find a way to catch a ship to Seychelles.

Returning to the present, Scarlett swallowed back the tears threatening to rise and looked back at her map. The first thing to catch her eye was the clock tower. Deciding that the signal site had to be around there, Scarlett tried to see how to get to the tower. She looked up at the street signs and sighed again. She headed down the right way, remembering how she had also needed to sell the Desert Eagle mark VII and Heckler and Koch Mark 23 and suppresser for enough shillings to get onto that ship. Over the weeks, Scarlett hadn't been able to pay for food, often having to go back to the jungle for her food, water, and shelter. It had been hell, and it made Scarlett more determined than ever to defeat those (to quote December Free) "elitist morons". They weren't going to get away with any of this. They _couldn't_.

_Don't worry, Tatum,_ Scarlett thought, _you're death won't be in vain_. She weaved her way through the crowd on the sidewalk, often having to pull up her jeans. She had lost too much weight over the weeks, her clothes hanging loosely over her body. She felt tired and weak. The only thing that seemed to keep her going was anger and determination. Her tangled waves brushed along the sides of her face, and she looked at the map occasionally to make sure she was going the right way.

Victoria was a nice city, the sun smiling as it shared its golden treasure with the world. It was unfortunate that Scarlett could not enjoy any of it. She still had some sunburn on her cheeks, nose, and shoulders, and her stomach was nearly completely empty. She had no idea how anyone could function well with such a lack of food and energy, and she just terribly missed those usual feelings she used to never give a second thought about. A corner of her mouth turned up in a bitter smile. Why did it have to be that things were appreciated _after_ they were gone?

_Oh, irony,_ Scarlett mumbled in her mind, _you can be so cruel sometimes. Dear Divines, help me through this._

She walked past the Tourist Office in the roundabout and down Independence Avenue, soon finding the clock tower just past the National Museum. Along the sidewalk on the right side was a wall that came almost up to Scarlett's hip. She walked along it, finding a chalk drawing near the corner where the sidewalk led into a crosswalk. It was white chalk, drawn into a crude shape of a five-pointed star. It was fresh, meaning Sierra had drawn it that morning. That was the best news Scarlett had gotten in so long. She smiled and saw how the longest point led back down Independence Avenue. She sat on the ledge and made it look as if she were studying the map. She lined herself up with where the star was pointing, and she decided that it had to be pointing to the Tourist Office.

"Of course," she murmured. She folded back up the map and made her way back down the street, trying to keep herself invisible and inconspicuous. It felt nice that there were others obviously from other countries. It was nice to know that she wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb like she had in Kenya. Smiling about being able to be thankful of _something_, Scarlett stuffed the map into her pocket next to the passport.

The worn soles of Scarlett's flat-heeled boots tapped against the tiled floor of the office, where she spotted just what she was looking for—a smear of white on the side of a box attached to the far wall, holding maps. It was something that no one would have noticed if it wasn't sought out for. Scarlett took out the final map and left the office before opening it. There was a mark along 5th June Avenue, and Scarlett suppressed a wide grin and kept her stride casual as she headed for the right place. Based on how long it had been, this was probably the second or third safe house Sierra and Charlie had stayed at while in Victoria, and Scarlett was so glad to have finally found them. After this, they were supposed to head for France, and Scarlett knew that getting there would had been _much_ harder than getting here in her condition.

Not far down the road, Scarlett found the apartment building that had been marked. She was about to make her way to the lobby, when muffled noise coming from one of the closest apartments on the ground floor caught her attention. It was muffled and barely audible, but Scarlett thought she heard a few words of German, French, and Spanish weaving through the apparent English. Both thanking the Divines and cursing her companions, Scarlett strode over to the door and folded up the map. She then prayed that no one else had become suspicious of the fracas, knowing that this could definitely raise awareness from anyone that may be working with the Giltebreks.

Taking a breath, Scarlett paused at the door, swallowing a lump at her throat. Now was _not_ the time to get teary-eyed! She'd have time to celebrate later. Right now, she had to get in there and help with Charlie and make sure Sierra didn't go insane. She had to help with the planning and carrying one of the three bags. She had to help guide and reassure Charlie as well as be there for Sierra.

They were one another's rocks. They were supposed to always be there for the other when stability was needed. Scarlett felt like crying again. Sierra had known Tatum, but she hadn't been as close to him as Scarlett had been. She needed someone to talk to, but, when in the jungle, she had only had trees and air to listen to her cries. She now had her sister. Biting back a smile and those bothersome tears, Scarlett gave three, loud knocks on the door. From the first knock, all sound from inside instantly evaporated, leaving only silence. Scarlett swore under her breath when she caught a noise she believed to be a bullet being chambered.

_Shit._ Scarlett knocked twice more. She then used a voice that could be heard clearly through the door but wouldn't alert much unwanted attention. "Oi! I heard you through the walls, and I'm tired and hungry! Now open the damn door!"

There was a bit of whispering, and Scarlett guessed one of the questions to be, "Is it really her?"

"Just open the door and find out," she muttered. _After all I've done for you, Sierra…,_ thought Scarlett. _Hopefully my time away has allowed you to think and, hopefully, change your mind._

As if hearing her, Sierra, in a single and swift motion, opened the door halfway and backed up a couple of feet, pistol raised at aimed at Scarlett's head. Scarlett's spine went straight as her eyes widened, but she made no other movements, not wanting to alert anyone outside that the ones inside were armed. From the kitchen off to the left, Charlie was crouched behind the counter, her own gun also pointed to where the bullet would have shot clean through her neck. The blonde slowly stood, eyes wide in disbelief. The same look was on Sierra's face, the gun lowering from head level to chest level. (Yeah, _that_ made her feel more welcome.)

"Dammit! Put the guns away!" Scarlett hissed. "Do you know the kind of hell I had to drag myself out of to get here?"

Finally, Sierra put away her pistol, followed by Charlie. The elder then regained composure, shaking her head slightly as Scarlett stepped into the apartment and shut the door. She watched her sister's familiar movement, her long curls swinging around her arms. When she stopped after a few seconds, a sigh escaped from between her lips before she finally spoke.

"Outta one hell and into another," she murmured, looking over at Charlie as Scarlett's eyebrows rose. She told Charlie? "The little hero started planning a suicide mission."

Nope. Charlie told _her_.

_Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,  
><em>_Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.  
><em>'_Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice;  
><em>_Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -  
><em>_Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -  
><em>'_Tis the wind and nothing more!'_

_- "The Raven" (stanza 6) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	13. Name of Woman

**_PJ's song is one I_ actually wrote myself! :D No idea how it would sound, but I'm still pretty excited. ^w^ Enjoy!**

"_Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent." - Victor Hugo_

The cool metal of the golden band on her left ring finger sent his heart aflutter as their lips met. Her other hand swept through his hair, and PJ could not believe how lucky he was to be marrying this woman in just a few months. He had thought that the planning would be a warzone, but it had actually been much more pleasant than his original thoughts. Jennifer was so patient and loved to hear his opinions, and, at the same time, she did not become angered when PJ had no thoughts pertaining to a specific question. His last almost-wedding a few years ago ended in shambles, because Courtney just could not stand the fact that PJ did not have the same eye for detail as she did. He still didn't get what the difference between gold and champagne was. She was also pretty spoiled, used to living the high life and being surrounded by class.

PJ _still_ wasn't sure how their relationship had lasted eight months.

Jennifer made him so much happier, which was why he had waited longer to pop the question with her. Their relationship had been casual at first, with PJ easing back into dating after Courtney and Jennifer still getting over her last break-up. Both had been perfectly fine with taking things slowly, and PJ had loved that Jennifer held true to the traditional values she had grown up with. He had first feared that they may seem cute at first but would later get on his nerves, but all of her virtues so outweighed her faults, PJ could only see the golden light surrounding her angelic form. Her long, brown-black hair was soft under his touch, the gentle, wave-like curls almost seeming to be pulling at his hands to come closer. They were on the couch in his apartment, Shadow locked in PJ's room. Although both loved the large, black Labrador, they had agreed the two-and-a-half-year-old puppy should give them some alone time for a while.

"I love you," Jennifer whispered as their lips disconnected. Her long lashes lifted slightly over her large, dark brown eyes, and PJ could not help but smile. He loved her gorgeous eyes, as well as her radiant, cocoa-colored skin. Her bone structure showed Indian decent, and her voice had an almost musical quality to PJ's ears. There was still the huskiness from when she used to smoke, but it only added to her allure according to PJ.

"I love you too." One of his hands came up, and he used the knuckle of his index finger and the side of his thumb to trace the contour of her narrow jawline. Her plump, glossed lips turned up into a smile, and they kissed once more before there was a knock at the door. PJ groaned slightly, making Jennifer giggle. Her laugh made the huskiness of her voice more apparent, and PJ could not help but smile as well. "I'll be right back."

Leaning back in the tan-colored couch, Jennifer showed a thin strip of white as she smiled, watching PJ look back at her briefly as he went to the door. He nearly walked into it, and she giggled again. It made him laugh as well as he opened the door, not even bothering to look through the peep hole. When the door swung open, PJ froze, and Jennifer sat up and tried to lean to where she could see who it was. However, PJ's tall, lanky body blocked her line of vision, but she knew exactly who it was when PJ spoke her name.

"Teddy." His smile grew, and the brother and sister hugged, the paper bag in Teddy's right hand crinkling as she embraced her older brother. "Wow, when did you get back? Mom and Dad didn't say anything!" He led her into the small den, where she was then brought into a tight hug by Jennifer, who stood a fraction of an inch taller than Teddy.

"I told them I wanted it to be a surprise," Teddy laughed as she broke away from Jennifer. "Hey, Jen! You look great!"

"Thanks," replied Jennifer as she took Teddy back to the couch. PJ joined them, head hanging as the grin stuck to his face. "I finally lost the weight I had gained when I quit smoking. It took hours at the gym as well as coaching from Leah."

"Leah's the dietitian, right?" Teddy asked.

"Yeah." Jennifer gave a nod. "So, how was Austria?"

"It was—"

"Wait," PJ interrupted. "I'm going to go free Shadow before he destroys my room. No talking about your trip until I get back, and no exchanging embarrassing stories about me while I'm gone."

Both women watched until he reached the hallway before simultaneously turning back to one another. Teddy quickly (and loudly) announced, "Oh! You should hear about this time when PJ and I were in the tree house as kids—"

"Teddy!" PJ shouted in warning from the hallway as he reached his bedroom door.

"Oh," said Jennifer, just as loudly as Teddy, "you should hear about last night!"

"Jen!" PJ shouted again, opening the door. Immediately, Shadow bolted out, jumping up on PJ before bounding towards Teddy and Jennifer. "You'll give her the wrong idea!" He laughed as the two women squealed, the hyperactive puppy jumping into the couch with them and going back and forth to give them kisses.

"Shadow! Down!" PJ ordered. Unfortunately, the coal-black puppy ignored his command, excited at the company. His tail was now a blur, hitting both Jennifer and Teddy in the knees.

"Aw! You've gotten so big!" Teddy gave Shadow a hug and looked up at PJ. "And what wrong idea? I already know you're a prude."

PJ brought his palm to his forehead with a little more force than he had intended. "Ow…," he murmured before looking up at Teddy. "Gee, _thanks_." He raised an eyebrow at his chortling fiancée and waited for her to settle down. "Okay, I'll grab a chair from the kitchen, and then you can tell us all about your trip." Shadow followed him as he went through the swinging door that led into the joined kitchen and dining area.

"I can't believe you said that," Jennifer whispered, a touch of laughter still clinging to her voice. "What did you bring?" She looked at the maroon paper bag, which had a picture of chocolate on it in gold-colored foil. A picture of Mozart was on the chocolate.

"Presents," Teddy replied in a sing-song voice as PJ reentered the room, carrying one of the straight-backed chairs. He set it down in front of the couch and scratched Shadow on the head when he placed his forepaws and head on his right leg.

He gave a smile, looking over at the bag. "Did I hear something about presents?"

This made Teddy laugh as she pulled out a shirt with a Ferris wheel with large, red baskets. They had walls and windows, looking almost like rooms on the giant wheel. PJ instantly recognized it and smiled as he read the word in large, fancy script: _Wien_. As he thanked Teddy and threw the shirt over one shoulder so Shadow wouldn't get it, the worldly woman explained, "I remembered how you and Gabe used to love those old detective and spy movies, and I instantly thought of you when I saw that Ferris wheel at Prater Park."

"Where's it from?" asked Jennifer.

"James Bond movie," PJ answered quickly as Teddy opened her mouth. "_The Living Daylights_. It was one of my favorites. I had gotten really into spy movies and those old detective films when I was seventeen. Gabe had gotten into them some too."

"It had started out as 'research'"—Teddy used air quotes—"when PJ wanted to prove that our neighbor had killed her husband," she explained before Jennifer even opened her mouth to ask.

"Ah, sounds like PJ." She smiled at him, and he gave a sheepish smile back. When Jennifer turned back to Teddy, she gaped at the beautiful, silk scarf. "Wow, that's so pretty." It was smooth over her skin, and it was the color of violets. She could just barely make out the printed flowers along the edges. "What's this flower?" She pointed at one as she put the scarf around her neck. PJ reached forward to help get her thick hair out of the way.

"Edelweiss." Teddy smiled. "I think they're just so beautiful."

"They are," agreed Jennifer.

PJ smiled as well. "Just like you."

As Jennifer looked up at him, Teddy rolled in her lips, smearing the light pink gloss slightly. "Okay, now I'm uncomfortable."

Right on cue, Shadow jumped into her lap, as if saying, "I'm here for you." The heavy pup was soon scolded by PJ, and he jumped off, lying on the floor and gazing up at PJ with his large, chocolate eyes. It was his usual apology, and PJ could not stop the corner of his mouth from turning upward as he sat back down in the chair.

It was just nice having the atmosphere be so easy and light. All of those heavy feelings still had not completely ebbed, but it was a novelty for things to be like they were before. PJ hadn't liked it when Teddy left for Austria, and he had almost felt betrayed in a way. Here, Charlie was gone, possibly locked in a closet or even lying in a ditch, and Teddy was running away from them. PJ had felt like running away as well, but he had forced himself through the storm. He had had the strength to make it. Gabe had had the strength to make it. Why not Teddy?

He knew that the two had had a special bond. Even when Charlie was a baby, the two were very close. PJ would have expected Teddy to be up night and day, pushing herself to her limits to locate their baby sister. PJ was glad she hadn't put such a strain on herself, but, at the same time, he wished she had stayed instead of simply running from her problems. They all felt the same pain. They should have been helping each other through it. Having the second daughter leave had actually made things worse. Their mom had cried herself to sleep—at least, from what PJ could hear whenever he went to visit. She normally walked around the house with no light in her eyes—a zombie. It had been enough to make PJ (the usually emotionally inept one) cry.

Of course, though, the past could not be redone. PJ knew that Teddy was just trying to deal with it, and she _had_ been a huge help in the search. She was back now, and that was what mattered. Yet, PJ wondered if she was just going to leave again. Was this happiness only the eye of the storm? PJ was almost afraid to come out of his shelter, needing to know if he should prepare once again for those harsh winds and killer rain. He wanted Teddy to stay in Denver with him and the others. He wanted the rest of his family to just stay together.

Rousing himself out of his thoughts, PJ realized that Teddy had been talking about her trip.

"… spilled over my skirt! So Catherine takes me over to her place so I can borrow some of her clothes. _No way_ I was going back to the apartment smelling like liquor after my _first _night off." Teddy's smiles were still contagious, but they seemed to not have the same power they once did. The power had mellowed somehow, and PJ realized that the whole charade would still go on whether or not she was here. None of them were going to be able to take off their masks until they figured out what happened to Charlie.

It was after an hour of PJ listening to the two women switching tales he made his way around the napping pup and towards his room with barely a word. He threw his new shirt onto the bed out of habit and got his electric guitar.

The blue-and-white one he had loved dearly as a teenager stood on a stand on the other side of his bed, shiny and smiling proudly about being the first and favorite of PJ's instruments. It seemed to almost pout when he grabbed his red-and-black one, Demon. He had gotten it some years ago, as well as the keyboard pushed against the far wall, used when PJ had inspiration for a new song and needed to run the bugs out of it.

PJ smiled at Razor as he took Demon into the living room, throwing the ebony strap over his head and securing it on his shoulders and over his upper back. The two women became silent as he sat back down and strummed a few chords. Jennifer giggled as Shadow twitched at the sound.

"Wrote a new song?" Teddy guessed.

"No, I wanted to play you 'Mary had a Little Lamb'," PJ replied sarcastically in a light tone as Teddy rolled her tawny eyes. "I wrote it two days ago, and it still needs some work, but I wanted to play it for the both of you."

Jennifer leaned forward slightly as Teddy sat up straight. PJ played, using an irregular alteration between chords and single notes to get a sound that was both easy and welcoming but also with an edge that made Teddy think of dusk—the safety of the light leaving everyone in uncertain darkness, waiting for the friendly winks that were sure to soon appear. Teddy could imagine this sounding just awesome when plugged into the amp, and she saw Shadow's leg kicking to the beat, tongue hanging out of his mouth. The image was humorous, but her smile froze in place when PJ began to sing, voice soft along with the guitar.

"_Can you tell me why  
><em>_Why you make me feel this way?  
><em>_Can you show me where  
><em>_Where you left your heart  
><em>_When you went astray?_

_It's so dark,  
><em>_It's so cold.  
><em>_Can you feel it around us?  
><em>_Or have you left me all alone?  
><em>_Are you happy now?  
><em>_Now ev'rything's been torn apart?_

_Give me back my hope!  
><em>_Give me back my life!  
><em>_I can't take this anymore.  
><em>_Don't you feel what I feel inside?_

_You cast me aside,  
><em>_And ran away from it all.  
><em>_Was it fear  
><em>_Or a need for freedom?  
><em>_Can't you tell me?  
><em>_Won't you answer my call?"_

He played a few more chords, the edge more apparent. Teddy slumped in her seat, feeling tears prick at the back of her eyes. It sounded like a love song, but Teddy knew what the true emotion behind it was. She had known that she was hurting them by leaving, but was this really what PJ had felt? Betrayed and left alone to fend for himself? It made Teddy feel so horrible. More than ever, she wanted to tell PJ about the letters, but Charlie's words from that first letter stopped her once again as PJ continued.

"_Don't tell me you're okay  
><em>_And pretend  
><em>_That it's all the same  
><em>_As it had been before_

_I love you so.  
><em>_Can't you see that?  
><em>_But you've left me alone,  
><em>_In the dark and cold.  
><em>_You stayed away  
><em>_When I needed you the most._

_Give me back my hope!  
><em>_Give me back my life!  
><em>_I can't take this anymore!  
><em>_Don't you feel what I feel inside?"_

_Yes, I do, _thought Teddy. _We all do_. The cold knife crafted from quicksilver dug deeper into her heart, twisting mercilessly with a deep cackle that made her blood freeze within her constricting veins. Her heart hammered, trying desperately to warm her blood as she listened intently to her brother's soul pouring out like the fire she desperately needed to help become whole once again.

**XXX**

There was nothing to alert Spencer to the true identity of Clarisse Winston. He had already met with four others about the Giltebreks-weather control thing, but he had really hoped to speak to Clarisse. It had been obvious this wasn't the real name, but he hadn't been able to find any way to contact her. Probably the only thing Spencer had been able to figure out for sure was that Clarisse actually was a girl—though the age was sketchy. She had a mature style, but some of her metaphors, similes, and certain things mentioned made him think more of a teenager. Names of teachers were never used, but Spencer was sure that that wouldn't have helped anyway. He had even met with the anonymous guy (Spencer finally decided to dub him "Blue", due to his mentions of a woman he called "Red"), but he had only given an e-mail address.

It had been almost three weeks, and the deadline seemed to be fast-approaching. Spencer had much information from all of his other research, but he wasn't able to get Clarisse out of his mind. There was just something about her writing. She should definitely have a wonderful career as a journalist one day if she ever decided to write about real-world issues. Was that why Spencer was thinking about her? He found a kindred spirit?

"Damn…" Spencer opened his work e-mail, finding it to be empty once more.

Why was he stressing about this? All he had to do was take what he already had and turn it in. He had never cared this much about an article before. What was different about this one? Spencer didn't believe this one to be true. It was as fake as the others. Or was it? Have these people been getting through his shield of skepticism? Has working for the magazine for so long started to contaminate his mind with these false beliefs?

_You are what you eat? More like you are what you work for._ Spencer shook his head and went downstairs to get another cup of coffee. He had to stop worrying about Clarisse Winston and her blog. She was a teenager talking (extensively) about a conspiracy theory. It was nothing new. He had enough information from the others for his article, and it was definitely enough to satisfy Mr. Yumn.

As Spencer poured more coffee into his navy mug, he thought back to the different people he had interviewed. One man swore up and down that he had been followed for three years after visiting a small town in Alaska and asking the "wrong questions". Spencer hadn't been sure about him being followed, but his other research had put the main "weather-control center" in rural Alaska, the nearest town housing under three-hundred people. Having an actual location for this place would really help the article, and Spencer drank his coffee as he thought about how Clarisse had also placed the facility a few miles away a small town in Alaska in her blog. Blue had spoken about Clarisse some, but he never gave precise details about her.

"_She's a… frequent traveller," Blue replied when Spencer asked where she was. "She doesn't like to be in once place for too long."_

"_Why's that?" Spencer inquired, curious about this mysterious Clarisse._

"_She has her reasons" was Blue's only response._

It had been pretty obvious that Blue wanted to say more, but he seemed to have been bound to a commitment. Most likely, he knew Clarisse personally and had promised to keep her secrets.

Was she a daughter? No, Blue looked too young to have a teenage daughter.

Then again, Spencer had seen a few pregnant girls in his high school, and it was possible that Blue had been a teenage father—or even guilty about not taking care of her for whatever reasons when Clarisse was younger. This was definitely a possibility, but Spencer knew that there was no reason to jump to conclusions. Also, he had no reason to want to dig into Blue's personal life. All he needed was what Blue had told him during the interview.

Suddenly, a chill began to trickle down Spencer's spine, and he set the mug down, shaking his head. He had started getting these weird feelings of being watched or followed ever since meeting Krystle for the third time. She had left the city a day after that meeting, but it seemed like a piece of her was still there, leaving Spencer with the paranoid feeling that had made him build the skeptic's shield in the first place.

Again, he was getting that feeling like right after having watched a horror movie at night. He was seeing things out of the corner of his eye, still jumpy from the adrenaline rush the movie had given him. The extra caffeine he had been taking in lately probably wasn't helping, and he had to remember that none of this was real. Just like the Collector, Jigsaw, or Ghost Face, the Giltebreks _did not exist_.

Yet, the feeling still persisted, and Spencer groaned as he got to his feet and made his way to the front door. This unrelenting and annoying feeling wouldn't leave until he looked out a window and looked across the area. A few of his neighbors have probably seen him and thought he was going crazy, but Spencer didn't really care at this point. If it got rid of the chills playing tag across his spine, Spencer would even consider taking out one wall and replacing it with a two-way window.

After glancing out one of the narrow windows beside the door, the chills left, but they were replaced by a pang in his gut when he spotted a woman with copper hair and crystal blue eyes standing by a red car in the parking lot. The way her thin eyebrows were shaped, she looked perpetually angry, and her lips pressed tightly together as her eyes narrowed.

_Shit. It's Patricia._

_Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose  
><em>_Loveliness extreme.  
><em>_Extra gaiters,  
><em>_Loveliness extreme.  
><em>_Sweetest ice-cream.  
><em>_Pages ages page ages page ages._

_- "Sacred Emily" by Gertrude Stein_


	14. Quintessence of Dust

"_There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy." - Robert Louis Stevenson_

"Damn, damn, damn." Spencer backed away from the door and instantly locked the deadbolt before going to the breakfast area to sit down again. While staring at his ex-girlfriend, he saw that familiar wrinkle in her brow as she smoothed back her hair, which was now cut to just below her earlobes, accenting her square jawline. Spencer had decided to walk away as soon as he saw her head his way, fingers curling as she made her strides wide and full of purpose.

Just as Spencer sat down, Patricia began to pound on the door. "Spencer! _SPENCER_! I _KNOW_ YOU'RE IN THERE, SO OPEN THE DOOR!"

Not wanting his neighbors to start pouring out onto the sidewalks to stare at the crazy woman screaming on his stoop, Spencer finally got up and unlocked the door before yanking it open. Patricia stumbled forward but quickly steadied herself despite the high-heeled sandals. Spencer only took a step back so she wouldn't land on him; he noticed that she could now meet his eyes without having to look up while wearing those shoes (that must have made the heels at least four inches). She smoothed over her hair again as she stood up, her thin fingers ending at the tips as she tucked the strands behind her small ears.

"What do you want?" Spencer hoped that she'd want to leave if he was rude to her.

Her plump lips were almost in a pout. "You can ignore my calls and messages all you want, but we are _talking_ about this."

With a sigh, Spencer stepped aside to let her in, seriously considering the concept of signing for a constraining order. He slammed the door shut when Patricia stormed in, heading for the living room. Spencer followed, watching her sit in his favorite, soft chair. He sat on the small couch in front of her, just watching as she leaned back and crossed her legs. The hem of her tight, turquoise T-shirt lifted a bit over the belt line of her low-riding jeans, and Spencer could see the top of the tattoo on her hip, which he knew to be a chain of black hearts that wound around part of her left leg.

"What's there to talk about?" Why did he have to let her in the house? "You were crazy and possessive, so I broke up with you." Spencer substituted "dumped" with "broken up" just in time.

"I am _not_—"

"Then why'd you call me every hour, demanding who I was seeing?" Spencer was not in the wrong, but he had to reel in his anger. They always blamed the men, and Spencer didn't feel like listening to her while sitting behind Plexiglas.

"Can you blame me?" The pout was back. It'd be cute on a child, and Spencer guessed that she had been the kind of daughter that got whatever she asked for. "All my other boyfriends cheated on me. You were so nice, I thought it was too good to be true!"

"So you hid in my closet instead of trusting me?"

Her eyes widened a degree, and Spencer thought he caught a glimpse of her real eye color behind those contacts. "Uh…"

"Didn't know I knew, did you?" Spencer stopped himself from laughing. That night had been pretty freaky. He had suddenly noticed grey-green eyes watching him from the closet in his room, the door opened a crack. It had been at night, and he had been supposed to meet a woman for an interview. That was why their date had been cancelled, but, instead of chasing her out, Spencer had just closed the door all the way and left. He had already been planning to break up with her, anyway.

"You, but…" She cleared her throat, face still red in embarrassment. "We still have to talk about this. We could have worked through it."

Fingers going to his right temple, Spencer stated, "Worked through what? You stalking me? Not trusting me? That's something for _you_ to work through, not _us_."

Patricia's bottom lip began to quiver.

Ignoring it, Spencer continued, "That's what I was trying to tell you the day I broke up with you. When, you know. You started screaming in my face before dumping the chicken alfredo over my head."

"You can give me another chance." Her voice was softer now, and Spencer realized that this wasn't going to be one of her angry explosions. No, it was going to be one of her weepy ones, and he moaned internally as she began to blink back her tears. "Spencie… This _can't_ be the end of us. It just can't!" Rivers rushed down her smooth cheeks. "Please… don't say it's over. I'm just asking you to give us another chance. _Don't_ end this!" She was quaking in the chair now, and Spencer had to look away.

"It's already been ended," he said forcefully. "Please leave."

Sobbing now, Patricia clenched her fists and got to her feet. "Fine!" Her voice barely made it through the stuttering cries. "If you want to end the perfect life we could have had together on top, then _go ahead_!" She stormed towards the door, arms going around her middle. "Just remember that _you_ made this choice," she muttered.

The door slammed shut behind her, and Spencer just reclined in the couch, finally letting his muscles relax. Why did he always have to be so tense around her? "Ugh, where'd I put the Advil?"

**XXX**

Sitting on one of the high chairs on the other side of the counter from the young teenager, Sierra listened to her stumbling words once more as if hoping that they would change or even gain a few grains of sanity—no such luck. Hunched over slightly and kicking her feet, Sierra looked up at her sister sitting on the couch, her full attention on Charlie. Sierra still felt like getting on her knees and praising the Divines, but she decided that they knew her gratitude, so she could always thank them and the Guardians later. She did whisper a quick "Thank-you" to Nirabella and Terrask, however, needing it to keep from picturing tearing those gunmen in the jungle limb from limb. They were probably all dead anyway—pity. Sierra _had_ always been told as a child that she needed an outlet for her anger. Looks like she'd have to settle for punching pillows again.

Snapping out of those thoughts, Sierra took in Scarlett's tired eyes, scrawny frame, and lusterless hair. She had probably needed to get one of the smallest cabins possible on the ship. It looked like she had washed a few times, but she had probably been saving the scanty water provided for drinking rather than hygiene. It also looked like she hadn't eaten much. The ship hadn't been like a cruise. There were different costs that covered a certain amount of space for a cabin as well as two cards. One card got stamped for food, one for water. Sierra soon looked down again, trying to reel in all of her emotions. It sounded like Charlie had just wrapped up her scheme, and Sierra heard Scarlett rise from the couch with a sigh, making the elder look up in confusion.

"Well, back to the jungle." Scarlett tried to briskly make her way towards the door when Sierra jumped in the way, nearly knocking her over. "Hey! Watch it!"

Ignoring her, the older sister took Scarlett back to the couch. "Oh no you don't. I ain't going through this alone."

Refusing to sit, Scarlett crossed her arms, which looked like bones with skin just stretched over them. There was some muscle, sure, but they didn't add much definition. "Well, apparently, the jungle's safer!" Scarlett nearly wailed. "I'd rather risk getting mauled by lions than go through _that_!" Her eyes were pleading, and Sierra caught the message loud and clear.

"I'm not asking you to," Sierra told her, shaking her head slightly in response to the silent question. "I need help to talk her _out_ of it, not _help_ her with it!" Sierra had thought she had made that clear when she called it a "suicide mission", but, then again, she wasn't exactly one to go around labeling other schemes suicide when hers was just as bad, maybe worse.

"Plus there're no lions in the jungle. They live in the savannah," Charlie chimed in, earning a glare from both women. She immediately shrank back and went to get a glass, filling it a quarter-way with tap water.

Sierra turned back to Scarlett as she shook her head. In her hoarse voice, Scarlett requested, "Shut up. I'm tired, hungry, thirsty, and half-way delirious. Now, I'm going to get some sleep, and please someone have something ready for me when I wake up. At this point, I don't care what it is as long as it can be eaten."

Before Sierra or Charlie could respond, Scarlett all but collapsed onto the couch, falling asleep almost immediately. It took a bit of Sierra's will to not laugh. A beaten and worn Scarlett was still Scarlett. Questions and more explanations would have to wait until later, but, at that point, Sierra was just glad Scarlett had agreed that Charlie's plan was too risky—or she just didn't want to add any more stress to what was already going on, what had already been planned. Even the "scheming rebel" had her limits, but Sierra had seen something else in Scarlett's eyes. She had been proud of Charlie and disproving of Sierra and herself.

"What should we make for her?" asked the blonde and insane devil. Her eyes shone with innocence Sierra was ready to scoff at, but she knew that the girl really did have everyone's well-being swelling up her heart. Sierra knew that this was why she had begun cooking up such a plan Scarlett had thought of years before—just not on such a grand level. The child was driven by compassion and love. She felt a deep need to do all she could to preserve the pure spirit that had once driven humanity.

Suddenly, Sierra remembered a rune stone reading she had gotten when she was thirteen. The reader had been Natasha, a friend of her mom's. One specific stone had been placed in a certain way that made Natasha's brow wrinkle. She explained that the stone was placed that showed that Sierra looked at the darkness and evil of humanity. If it had been facing a different way, it would show that Sierra usually saw the good. Sierra could not help but feel bad at the time. She had just begun learning that much of the good people showed was a mask that hid greed and other undesirable traits. Or did she only see the bad and blinded herself to the good? She wasn't always sure anymore.

Sierra had called herself a realist whenever someone called her pessimistic. She did not necessarily like this outlook, and she readily waited for someone to prove her dead wrong. No one could. This guileless girl before her, though… Not only did she have light within herself, she saw the light in others. She saw the light, however dim, without losing touch with the reality Sierra saw. She wanted to protect it. She was willing to fight for it. She did not care how much it cost to protect it, and that was why others needed to (if not already) fear her. This _child_—Sierra did not care how much she said she was an adult—truly was the embodiment of hope everyone her age was supposed to be to the previous generations. Sierra knew this and, too, decided that she wanted to be able to do everything to protect this light. She wanted to be able to do anything to protect this hope mankind desperately needed. But would she risk _her_ _life_ to protect this hope?

Charlie would.

The question Sierra's seventh grade teacher asked the class twisted through her mind once again, and, now, it wasn't just asking about her country—it asked her if she was willing to risk it all for this _universe_. All these years, and Sierra wasn't sure what her truthful answer would be. It was that fear that had made her argue against the teenager so vehemently. It was a fear that scared her stiff and made her hide behind others. Sierra was ashamed to admit that she had been afraid for her _own_ life. Yes, she had thought of Charlie's life as well, but it had been her own life that flashed through her mind first. How could it be? How could it be that a fourteen-year-old had so much more courage than a thirty -year-old?

It was with that thought that Sierra decided to talk through this issue more, but with Scarlett—when she awakens and is of a clear mind. They would speak of it in private when Charlie is either washing or asleep. Sierra did not want to fill the girl with hope that they would actually go through with the plan if the decision was that they wouldn't. Thinking this through, Sierra almost winced, realizing that she was actually reconsidering, and, not only that, but she was reconsidering because she couldn't stand the fact of Charlie being braver than her.

_Damn pride,_ thought Sierra bitterly. She swore that it would lead to her death someday.

Or, if not her pride, then her big mouth might. Scarlett didn't call her the "trigger-happy smartass" for nothing. Still, if it was her pride that finally molded her into someone courageous, then she was fine with that. Sierra just couldn't stand living with herself any longer knowing that she was a coward.

"Sierra?" The tender voice belonging to Charlie broke the woman out of her thoughts, and she finally made her way into the tiny kitchen as Charlie asked again, "What should we make for Scarlett?"

Turquoise eyes snuck a peek to the sleeping woman, sparkling as a small snore lifted into the air. "Looks like she'd be pleased with barbeque bat with a side of tarantula."

Charlie wrinkled her nose in distaste at the very idea.

"What?" Now Sierra was smirking. "Flying rat should taste like chicken, and the giant spider will just be crunchy—kinda like chips or something."

"Great, now I have to swear off chips."

"By the looks of it, you'll be a vegan by the end of the trip." Sierra didn't like that she was making this sound like a vacation, but lightening the mood was how she liked to cope with things—aside from finding something to beat up, but that tended to be frowned upon in most societies.

The blonde stuck out her tongue. "I'm going to get some teabags from Scarlett's backpack before you scare me away from any more of my favorite foods."

Moving aside, Sierra let Charlie pass and head to the room, where the bags were kept. The smirk was still in place as Sierra went to retrieve the kettle and pan, deciding that she would just make something from scratch again. Like many of the other safe houses, this one had been stocked with some food. It was just enough to hold two or three people for a few days, depending on how much they ate. Normally, Sierra kept their meals relatively small, but, just for Scarlett, she felt that she should splurge a little.

"Is green okay?" Charlie asked, setting the three bags onto the table.

Although she preferred Russian black tea or Irish Breakfast tea (with milk and sugar), Sierra nodded, knowing that green tea was one of Scarlett's favorites.

"Good." Charlie then went to put some water into the kettle and prepare the stove. Sierra just took out one of the Tupperware containers filled with chicken meat as well as the carrots, broccoli, and a few other vegetables in the drawer at the bottom. She decided to make stir fry and hoped that there would be a sauce somewhere she could work with. Charlie wasn't talking, but Sierra was content to work in silence. Maybe it would help her think things over.

**xxx**

Barely two hours had passed before Scarlett had awoken, most likely by the smell of food Sierra had been preparing. Although irritated at her, Charlie was forced to admit that Sierra was a pretty could cook when she wanted to be. Some of the chicken and vegetables looked somewhat burnt, but Charlie didn't mind. She didn't even care that she didn't like green onions or carrots. She had learned to tolerate tons of food over her time in hiding, caught without the choice to be picky. The tea also tickled her senses, and Charlie set the three mugs onto the coffee table a few feet in front of the couch, flashing Scarlett a smile as she did so.

The clinking of porcelain filled her ears as Sierra got out three plates, and Charlie gave Scarlett the hug she hadn't been able to give her earlier. The woman smelled of dirt, sweat, body odor, and the ocean, the scents tickling Charlie's nose as her chin rested on top of one of Scarlett's shoulder.

"Hey, girlie," Scarlett laughed, hugging Charlie back. "I missed you too, but I'm gonna need a wash with actual soap before we start the group hugs."

"Eat first, wash later," Sierra chimed in. Charlie caught the tenseness in her voice, which had ebbed upon the third word.

_Why's it so hard for her to show emotion?_ Charlie asked herself. During their argument, Sierra had sounded angry, spouting out German without realizing it.

In turn, Charlie had screamed at her in the French and Spanish that she knew, clearly seeing the fear flashing through Sierra's eyes. She had tried to hide it a few times, but it was always there. There had also looked to be something else, but Charlie couldn't match them to her usually calm and collected guardian. Was it regret? What was there for her to regret? Not thinking of it first?

When Scarlett's aggravated voice had filtered through, Sierra had gone blank, all fear vanishing and taking everything else with it. Charlie realized it was some sort of coping mechanism when the door had opened, revealing that it really _had_ been Scarlett. Still, it was a coping mechanism that irritated Charlie. She was used to having people be open with her. She, herself, may close herself away from others, but that was because she had always been the strong one for _them_. She wasn't used to someone else doing the same thing. A few times, she had wanted to tell Sierra to knock it off, but, before she could ever open her mouth, she'd always just hear Sierra retorting in her head, "You first." She'd then just let it slide—she wasn't ready to tear down her walls just yet.

The sound of Sierra setting down the plates stirred Charlie back into the present, and she decided to forget about her plan for now. She'd find a way to make them agree. Maybe she could even contact Phoenix Vargas and have him agree with her? He was the leader of Silver Wing, so Sierra and Scarlett would have to listen to him, right? Even if he found it too risky, he would allow her plan to be carried out, right?

Right.

The answer sounded more sarcastic than sincere in Charlie's head, but she forced herself to plaster on a smile as she ate, sitting cross-legged on the floor. It reminded her of a Japanese restaurant she had gone to when she was nine. The three spoke little, clearly waiting for the more sensitive subjects to be brought up later. Scarlett ate slowly, but it was easy to see that she was restraining herself from just gobbling up everything on her plate in one bite.

"Good thing you showed up before we left for Paris," Sierra joked before popping a piece of overcooked carrot into her mouth.

Scarlett gave a hollow chuckle before taking another bite of food. "Yeah, scraping enough money to get a cheap ticket for that ship was much easier than it would have been if I needed to buy a ticket for a plane or however I'd get there. I don't think Ekon would like it to much if I sold my body."

It had been meant as a joke, but the laughs that came afterward seemed forced. Charlie cracked a smile, feeling horrible for what her guardian—_friend_—had to go through just to reach them. Swallowing the semi-burnt chicken, Charlie asked, "How'd you get the money?"

"Old-fashioned hard work and selling weapons in the black market." She gave a nod before her eyes suddenly widened. "Oh! That reminds me." She stood up and yanked something out of her pocket, a map of Victoria falling to the floor. Scarlett sat down as she threw a passport onto the table. "Not sure I'll be needing that anymore."

"We'll keep it, just in case, though," said Sierra with a partly-full mouth.

Setting down her fork, Charlie reached forward to look over the passport. "New Zealand." She opened it up, finding Scarlett's picture and false information—obviously information of the person that last held the passport. Charlie set it down and stated, "Sorry, but I can't imagine you talking with that sort of accent. You're too country."

"Our accents aren't country," Sierra argued lightly, smiling and speaking with an almost regal voice. "They're elegant and cultured." She made a dramatic hand gesture as if to hammer in her point, and Charlie and Scarlett both could not help but laugh, Sierra soon joining in. The laughs were real this time, and Charlie could not help but grin.

"Sea, I'm surprised you haven't scared this poor girl away." Scarlett's voice was full of mirth as she picked up her cup of tea. As Sierra laughed again, Scarlett turned to Charlie. "Yeah, I tried to keep my mouth shut when I was around anyone."

"And you didn't explode?" Sierra took another large bite of her stir fry.

"Unlike you, I know when to be quiet." Her voice was stern, but her huge smile ruined the effect.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Smiling, Charlie ate some more as the three conversed, and she was just so happy as they did so. It was a moment that helped make everything else seem worth it. All she wanted to do was make others happy. Happiness was something so necessary, though not everyone really ever notices it. It's just a passing shadow cutting through the relentless doubt and suspicion that had mankind on its toes, waiting for someone to make the first move so they could retaliate.

It was the endless mistrust Charlie wanted to discard. That was why she had suggested such a risky plan. The Giltebreks were becoming bolder, and they kept growing in power, despite her blog and others like it. She needed to become bolder as well if she had any hope in defeating them. Charlie wasn't so naïve as to think she could do it on her own. She wasn't so conceited as to think she could single-handedly save humanity. She just wanted to give her all, and she hadn't been able to do that with all of her running and hiding.

It seemed almost cowardly now. She felt like she was sitting idly as the most dangerous group kept growing in power, getting ready to set off their scheme. Charlie refused to let that happen. A bit of darkness fell over her eyes as she thought about it. It was so horrid; Charlie wanted to shut it out of her mind forever. Yet, she could not allow herself to forget. Picturing all those deaths, the spilling of innocent blood… it kept her going. It kept the flame of anger harbored in her soul flickering, giving her motivation. Charlie had relied on others to push her down the path she already knew she should be walking. It was her turn to push others. It was her turn to light the way. Charlie would not let the Giltebreks win and steal away moments like what's in front of her.

The happiness, the hope, the trust, the love… the things already teetering close to a devastating crash. Charlie was not willing to allow this to happen. Her world was not going to collapse into chaos around her. She wanted to hang on to hope and love. She wanted to be able to trust and be happy. These things surrounded the flame of anger, relaxing the flame and calming the body and soul so that the flame would not consume everything, as was in its gluttonous nature.

Too many people were being consumed and not even realizing it. Charlie did not know what made up the fuel for this fire—it could be a great number of things—but she'd rather be sent to the Realm of the Damned than sit and watch her world destroy itself, not even realizing it was a mere pawn in the sly hand of the Giltebreks. Charlie needed to get plans. She needed charts. She needed documents. She needed more details. All she had been getting were skimmed-over information that could not give the entire, horrifying story. Charlie needed _everything_, and, whether Sierra and Scarlett agreed or not, Charlie was going to get it.

_After all,_ she thought, _there's nothing more for me to lose._

_Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,  
><em>_In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.  
><em>_Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;  
><em>_But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -  
><em>_Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -  
><em>_Perched, and sat, and nothing more._

_- "The Raven" (stanza 7) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	15. But a Shadow

_**"Ense petit placidam sub liberate" means "By the sword we seek peace, but peace only under liberty". Also, I do not own Tina Cousin's "Pray".**_

"_Ense petit placidam sub liberate." - Motto of Massachusetts_

Fast-paced music filled Teddy's tiny apartment as she knelt by the bed, stuffing the small, metal box full of cash into the box spring. She had cut a slit into the side near the foot of the bed to hide her stash of money, planning to sew it back up good as new when she had enough to buy an actual house.

When the box was secure, Teddy used the cream-colored skirt to hide the box spring and tucked the small key under her red-pink camisole. The white ribbon was smooth on her skin, and she brought her hands up as she began to dance to the music. It lifted her to her feet and brought its hands over her hips, helping her sway them to the beat. She allowed her body to flow as Catherine and Leonie had taught her, and Teddy felt the corners of her mouth curve upward as she went back into some of her own moves, no longer able to just keep still. She could almost hear laughter as she spun and kicked, feeling the energy once balled up in her core finding its way out through her appendages and swirling about. Her honey-toned ringlets bounced around her face, and her eyes closed as she swayed—not thinking; just moving.

The off-white curtains fluttered in the scanty breeze that did little to soften the heat of the late-June afternoon. It was a little over eighty degrees, and after just three songs, beads of sweat were already running down Teddy's face, neck, shoulders, legs, and arms. Her camisole stuck to her body and showed a bit more cleavage than Teddy usually liked as well as part of her bra, so she pulled it up as she moved, the hem inching up the belt line of her kaki Bermuda shorts. It was after the fifth song Teddy stopped to cool down and left the closet-sized room and into the den, joined with the kitchen area. She went over to the refrigerator and got out a bottle of water, staring out one of the open windows. Teddy liked to avoid using too much power, wanting to be able to save as much money as possible—especially since water alone was getting so expensive. She had scoured the newspapers and websites for a cheap apartment that was still in a nice area of town—actually not as tough as Teddy had originally thought. Her parents had offered for her to stay with them until fall, when she could move into the dorm again.

"I'm almost thirty and still living here. I don't want to feel like a loser or a burden on you guys," Teddy had argued. "I love you, but I think I should really get an apartment. I can live there year-round, I'll still be near the campus, and Gabe can stop making fun of me."

Taking a swig of her water, Teddy thought about her younger brother, who was now roughly six inches taller than her height of five-foot-seven. Like Teddy, he was working towards his masters, but he was looking to go working for the FBI—the white collar division. When he had first started going to college, Gabe had wanted to investigate murders or something of the like, thinking that they sounded much more exciting. He had turned around after some time, and both Teddy and their mom were glad. To their mom, working homicides had sounded too dangerous. Teddy had a feeling that the fact their mother worried about Gabe made him rethink his plans, especially in 2021 when the "Tenth Plague" had finally been captured. Teddy had almost heard her mother sigh in relief when Gabe told her he wanted to help solve white collar crimes instead.

The song changed to something slower and with a fluid sound as Teddy put the bottle of water back into the refrigerator and went back into her room and allowed herself to collapse onto her bed. Curls splayed around her head, she just lay there, allowing the music to wash over her as the bliss spinning through her core radiated out through the rest of her body. A smile kissed her lips, and she just let the bliss settle around her body, intertwining with her aura, which she had always envisioned as a bright gold and red that glittered and spun, showing the energy she had and wanted to share with others.

Seeing PJ with Jennifer and Gabe with Jo had been nice, and she could not wait to see Ivy with her fiancé. To others, seeing so much love around them may seem uncomfortable and amplify the feeling of loneliness, but not to Teddy. She had never been on either extreme of the spectrum. She neither obsessed over commitment nor shunned it. She merely allowed life to find love for her. A few times, she had taken it into her own hands—like throwing a pizza at a girl's face to keep her away from a guy she liked—but she felt just content with going with life's graceful flow. She still needed to figure out how to rightfully ready her ship when a storm approached, but Teddy had survived them this far. She was sure she could survive just about anything else.

"_And if you don't ask questions, you won't know why  
><em>_So say a prayer for the dying while there's still time…"_

Teddy let out a sigh as Tina Cousin's "Pray" filled the room, and she sat back up slowly and got a cardigan from the closet and turned off her iPod and closed her windows. The cardigan was long and deep grey, the bunched sleeves ending just above her elbows. Teddy preferred to wear as few layers as possible in the heat, but she normally didn't fell fully clothed going out in only a camisole. She then slipped on some white sandals and snatched up her keys on the coffee table in the den before heading out the door and into the blinding sun. With a sharp exhale, Teddy went back inside and quickly put on her large sunglasses as well as a book before heading out once more. After locking the door, she practically skipped down the stairs, deciding to just head to the park. Teddy hadn't gone to the mall as much lately, and she wasn't going to start looking for a job until she returned from New York. She didn't like carrying more than the fifty dollars in her pocket when she was just strolling about, knowing that having more money on her person would only tempt her into going shopping.

Curtis Park was just a few blocks from the apartment complex, and, once there, she found an empty bench under the shade of a large oak tree, the deep green leaves grinning down at her as she sat and opened her book to where the bookmark of different shades of blue waited. It had been made by Charlie's friend, Jasmine, who had made everyone bookmarks one time, using leftover watercolor paper, her collection of paints, and some ribbon. On the back of the bookmark was Teddy's full name: _Teddy Rachel Duncan_ in gold calligraphy, matching the ribbon.

Teddy smiled and tucked the narrow shaft of stiff paper in the back of the book and began to read. This was the fifth in a series Teddy had been enjoying, and she had been able to borrow it from Carrie, who probably had more books than the city library (not including what she also had on her e-readers). So far, _Black Heart_ had been opening up a new situation for Erin Skimmer, and Teddy was in anticipation for the real action to begin.

It had been nearly a half-hour when Teddy reached chapter eleven and a shadow fell over her and the crisp pages. Blinking, she looked up from one of Erin's rants to find Allison. The Vietnamese-American smiled as she sat next to Teddy, giving her a half-hug in greeting and brushing her long, sweeping bangs away from her hazelnut-brown eyes.

"_Chào chị_, Teddy!" she greeted. "Got your nose in another book?" One of her hands went up to bring her braid over her left shoulder, the tips brushing over her vermillion top, just under the collar bone.

"Yep." Teddy gave a smile as she marked her place. "Carrie let me borrow it."

"Woman's better than a library." She lifted the book slightly to read the title as she crossed her legs, the hem of one leg of the jeans lifting to show her tennis shoes. "_Black Heart_?" She sat back in the bench. "I love the _Cursed Enchantment_ series. I finished those six books in a week, and I am dying in anticipation for Carlson to finish the seventh."

"Don't you hate it when you read faster than the author writes?" Teddy laid one hand on top of the hard cover as if protecting it. She had always taken good care of items she borrowed, once even switching a book she had borrowed with a brand new one when she had accidentally damaged the spine. "I couldn't stand it when I just fell in love with this one book, but it took two _years_ for the next one to come out. By that time, I ended up having to reread the first one just to remember all what was going on." Teddy gave a laugh, glad that it came out more easily this time.

"Oh, you mean the _Cruelty_ trilogy?"

Teddy gave a nod.

Smiling, Allison leaned back in the bench. "Yeah, I loved those books, but, unlike you, I didn't discover them until the last book had just gotten out, so I never had to wait." She winked and stuck out her tongue—a usual Allison gesture, which Teddy could only shake her head at. "You still looking for a house, Daddy's Girl?"

Like Gabe, Allison enjoyed poking fun at the fact that Teddy had still been living with her parents after everyone else had begun to settle down in their own lives. It didn't help when Allison had found out that Teddy's room was in the basement of the house.

"Yeah," Teddy answered, giving a nod and sigh, "but trying to find a nice house in my price range is like trying to find—"

"Common sense in society?"

"I was going to say a needle in a haystack."

"All you need for that is a flamethrower and a magnet. It'll take a few hours, depending on the needle, but it can take _years_ to find someone with common sense—well, if you're lucky." Allison crossed her legs and stretched her arms over her head. "What kind of house are you thinking about? I'm guessing bigger than that closet of an apartment you told me and Krystle about."

"It's not a closet," Teddy argued, shifting her weight to become comfortable. "It's a sardine can, and I prefer two story houses, since that's what I grew up in. Don't!" Teddy pointed at Allison and shot her a glare before she could make a retort. "But it's looking like a one-story would be cheaper."

"Hmm…" Allison began moving one foot so that it tapped the air right above the grass. "There's some really nice Victorian homes in the Highlands. I can probably help you find something in your price range. I guess you didn't want to go with a realtor?"

"Nah, I can figure this out by myself. But maybe…" Teddy gave a hopeful look to the woman raising an eyebrow.

After a moment, Allison laughed and gave a nod. "Yeah, I'll help you. Come on. We'll get started now."

**xxx**

A mixture of orange and magenta leaked through the drawn curtains, seeping into the apartment as Teddy kicked off her shoes by the front door and went over to her bed to rest before having to make dinner. She let herself fall onto the comforter, a waltz of light and shadow playing over her room and across her skin. The music no humans could hear brought the light and shadows into a majestic dance over the walls and floor, and, before she knew it, Teddy was being covered by Morpheus's cloak as a dream was whispered into her ears:

Smoke filled the sky, choking out the brilliant blue Teddy used to always enjoy looking up at. She looked to be seventeen or eighteen again, hiding beneath a ledge with five other people: two men, two women, and a young boy. The ground was packed dirt, hard beneath their crowded bodies. Teddy had a light blue blanket draped over them, and her head peeked out so she could scan the wooded area for danger. The trees were charred and resembled black poles with some spikes jutting out from the sides. Leaves littered the floor, weeping and crying for the mercy that would never arrive. The clouds watched wordlessly from above, cowering before the dark grey smoke that cackled and whispered words of the destruction it had gleefully witnessed. The wind had long-since died along with the screams, seeing no point in bringing fresh air to the fugitives that had been running for days now. Tears pricked at those warm, brown eyes looking over from the hem of the tattered blanket, and a drop finally fell from one corner, shed for the Earth Teddy wished she could have saved.

The little boy whimpered from under the blanket, tears spilling from his bright blue eyes that had once matched the majesty of the sky before that horrible time of war and destruction. The soft cries tore through Teddy's already-broken heart, and another tear fell from her as the boy's mother quieted his whimpers with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her red curls hung like snakes around her gaunt face, oil built up in the dark roots. She hugged the boy, and Teddy finally moved her eyes away from her and back onto the land. There were no more animals. Leaves hid bones and tiny bodies, and Teddy flinched as a heavy crunch filled the stagnant air. Everyone huddled closer to get all the way under the blanket. More crunches sliced through the air, sounding like thunder. The scent of something sharp and metallic mixed with the stench of decay and made Teddy's eyes water. They were coming closer.

The man with greying, black hair burst out from under the blanket and made a run for it. Someone from the army of approaching footsteps broke away from the group to chase after him. The others next to Teddy also left the safety of the blanket and ran, leaving Teddy alone. She saw the mother carrying her child as she ran, green eyes wide with panic as the boy's eyes met hers before he disappeared into the darkness with his mother, two large men chasing after them. Teddy then blinked and hid under the blanket, shaking and hugging herself around the waist. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her long, tangled and knotted hair, now straight, veiled her shuttering body. Mere moments passed before the blanket was ripped away from her, and a sniggering chill attacked her skin like millions of tiny needles crafted from ice.

Screaming, Teddy clawed at the wall leading up into the overhang, begging for mercy she knew the man could not give. He dragged her away by the legs and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. He threw her over one of his stiff shoulders, and she began to squirm, shrieking and yelling as tears burned their way down her face and creating clear trails through the dirt and grime. Her eyes stung, and the tears blurred her vision. She kicked and threw her fists at the man's back, but he seemed to not feel them as he carried her towards a wall at the end of the dead forest. The other men came in behind him, dragging in the other five. The mother screamed for her child, who cried for his mother as a bulky man carried him into the compound on one shoulder. This made Teddy scream all the louder, her heart going out to them.

"Momma! _Momma_!" wept the small boy, trying to reach for the short woman. "Momma, help me! I'm scared! Momma, help me, _please_!"

"No!" shrieked the woman, trying to get away from the man that held onto her wrist in a vice-like grip. "Don't hurt him! He's just a boy! He doesn't deserve this!" Tears shamelessly streamed down her face. "I don't care what you do to me, just _spare my son_!"

The knife in Teddy's heart twisted in deeper, wrenching out more tears as she was thrown to the ground near a platform. The other five were thrown down near her, and two of them tried to run away before being grabbed again and bound. The mother pulled her son to her and wept, and the man that had tried running fought back with the muscular man to no avail. He was shoved to the ground as another man bound his wrists with rope. Teddy screamed for them to be let go. At the top of her lungs, she cursed and swore, demanding justice and peace. Tears felt as if they were burning through her skin, and some of the dirt from her face got into her eyes as her greasy hair fell over her face.

"Haven't you killed enough people?" she shrieked. "You _murderers_! You're not saving your world! You're _destroying OUR world_! You're not the elite! You're cold-blooded killers! Does not even that poor child's life mean anything to you?" She looked over at the boy.

From the forming crowd stepped forth a tall man with dark hair that was grown down just past his shoulders. His hard, dark eyes met Teddy's. "A boy spawned from an outsider and a traitor is no true life and no true meaning. The elite have already been chosen, and it is my word that the outsiders are to be culled so we may prosper."

"We aren't cattle," Teddy growled.

"No." The man's voice held no emotion. "Cattle serve a purpose to us. You do not." He looked up to the guards and snapped his fingers. "They are to be hanged now. Show the compound what happens to outsiders."

"You think this is freedom?" Teddy screamed to the crowd as one of the guards took her by the arms. "We're your brothers, sisters, and children! We're condemned, and you're left rotting in this hellhole of a prison!"

"Kill her first," said the man, his voice like a blade of ice that cut through Teddy harshly. Her heart thundered within her chest, and, with a burst of adrenaline, she broke from the guard holding onto her and barreled through the crowd, hearing the man's voice from behind. "Seize her!"

Arms pumping, Teddy ran, heading towards a tall fence in the distance. Legs spread in a long stride, she bounded towards the fence. Fighting the urge to look back, Teddy jumped up, grasping the top of her fence to jump over. When she was at the top, she caught a glimpse of how there were even more fences going on for miles, making a sort-of grid. Unable to think about it, Teddy kept going and cut a sharp left around a dead tree before leaping over a green-and-black chain-link fence and into tall grass. She dove into the small pond and held her breath, trying to go down as deep as she could so she wouldn't be seen.

When her lungs felt as if they were about to burst, Teddy slowly rose to the surface, making sure to stay hidden by the reeds and cattails. A man that looked to be about her age entered the area around the pond and looked around for a moment before going over another fence. That was when Teddy got out and darted to another fence, jumping into a field of tall grass that went up to her knees. There was an aspen tree on the other side, and, as Teddy approached it, the man from the pond stepped from the tree's shadow and caught Teddy by the wrists before she could make a run for it. He pushed her against the fence.

Teddy fought against him, but the man held her in place. His hands were large and rough with calluses, and his muscular arms were tan from the sun and held an olive tone. Dark brown curls fell into pleading eyes. "Teddy, stop. I can help you."

"Yeah, right!" Teddy fought harder, but he stepped closer to keep her where she was.

His dark brown eyes locked onto hers. "Please. It's not too late. Just trust me."

**xxx**

Gasping, Teddy awoke, finding that it was dark. Swearing beneath her breath, Teddy rolled over to look at her digital clock. She groaned upon realizing that it was 11:45 PM.

Sitting up, Teddy decided that it was too late to eat, despite what her stomach was saying, so she just decided to go ahead and brush her teeth and change before she would crawl back into bed. With a yawn, Teddy stretched and got out of bed. She was about to leave the room when something on the corner of the dresser caught her eye: an envelope with her name on it.

_Charlie_.

_The sky a black sphere,  
><em>_the sea a black disk._

_The lighthouse opens  
><em>_its solar fan on the coast._

_Spinning endlessly at night,  
><em>_whom is it searching for_

_when the mortal heart  
><em>_looks for me in the chest?_

_Look at the black rock  
><em>_where it is nailed down._

_A crow digs endlessly  
><em>_but no longer bleeds._

_- "Lighthouse in the Night" by Alfonsina Storni_


	16. Dying Many Times

"_Hypocrisy: prejudice with a halo." - Ambrose Bierce_

"_Seychelles_!" In anger and frustration, Teddy chucked her notebook at the wall. She grasped her pillow immediately and brought it to her mouth just in time for it to catch and muffle her scream. When she was done, Teddy stomped back over to the dresser and stared at the mirror for a moment. Her hair was in disarray, and her eyes were tinted red from the angry tears.

"Calm down, Teddy," she told herself. "It's too late. She's probably already in the next place already. Just try and figure out the stop after Seychelles." She took a few deep breaths to slow her heart. "Okay."

After retrieving her notebook, Teddy sat back on the floor by her lamp with the flexible neck. The light was bright against the paper, allowing Teddy to study the words as she read the letter again. She had already written down _Victoria, Seychelles_ next to _Letter 14_, and she jotted down _next?_ with her pen as she read, searching for clues. Another source of light came from her laptop, a window open to a site holding a brief history of Seychelles.

Tears came to her eyes as she read, wishing desperately that she could just find out where Charlie was and go get her. Yet, she knew that mapping out her destination would only be half of the battle. Many of the places Charlie had gone to were very large cities, and Charlie had confided that she moved from safe house to safe house every few days. The longest the teenager had stayed in a single place was a week. Teddy would have to scour the city and pray she got lucky. And that was only if a city was _mentioned_ and not just an entire country, like Kenya.

All that moving around… That was not a life for anyone, especially someone so young. She needed a stable home. She needed her family. Ever since she was little, Teddy had always been told that there was nothing more important than family—family would always be there for her. Charlie had been taught the same thing and had actually been closer to her parents than most others. Now, she was gone, ripped from the comfort of her loved ones. Teddy could not stand the thought of Charlie travelling the world, miles upon miles away from those that know and care about her. Teddy knew her secrets, and Charlie knew hers. They had gotten into fights, sure, but they had always been there for one another.

They may have been separated before when Teddy went to Peru, but they still e-mailed one-another. They may not have hung out as much when Teddy started going for her masters, but she always did what she could to make time for her little sister. Teddy just could not stand the thought of that young girl with the wide smile and calculating eyes never coming home. Teddy would bring her home—one way or another.

"Don't worry, Charlie," Teddy whispered to herself, flipping to a clean page in her notebook and jotting a few things down.

Almost all the pages were used up, and Teddy's cramped, hurried writing was illegible to all but the author. The ink began to run out as she wrote, and Teddy scribbled in the corner before throwing away the pen and getting up to retrieve another. She immediately went back to work, but it had been three hours. She was starting to get tired again. Still, Teddy pushed herself, images from the dream swarming into her consciousness. She tried, on numerous occasions, to push them away, but they kept flooding back.

Eventually, it got too hard to concentrate, and Teddy rolled over on her back, strands of hair whispering over the paper nearly black with notes and the keyboard of the laptop with five keys that were blank. The letters on those keys had completely worn off from Teddy's furious typing over the years, and three other letters were just about gone as well. The screen blinked into Teddy's screensaver, which was a slideshow of pictures. Teddy tapped the touch pad twice to bring back up the window as she sighed.

The scenes flew through her mind, and Teddy just wished for them to go away. The two men especially stuck to her mind. The heartless one that brought himself up as a king of sorts had been tall with dark hair and eyes. That was all Teddy could remember. She could not even remember what color his skin was, the shape of his eyes, the shape of his nose, whether his lips were thin or full, or even his body type. For the most part, he was fuzzy, as if there had been bad reception. There was no true face to him or any of the guards. The goons in olive green suits had all been the same—clones with unrecognizable faces. She could not even remember their hair and eye colors.

The other man, however, was still very clear. He had been fairly tall—just over six feet if Teddy had to guess. She remembered how he had been able to hold her against the fence, and Teddy felt her wrists tingle. He had been strong, and his hands felt like he worked with them often. Teddy looked him over with her mind's eye, and her eyes widened. He looked like a cross between James and Spencer. He had Spencer's nose, jaw, and eyes, but he also had James's hair and olive-toned skin. He was even tall like Spencer, but his muscle tone was closer to that of James. It made Teddy groan and curse her subconscious. She shouldn't be thinking about guys at a time like this! Especially two exes she had gotten over years ago.

Sitting back up, Teddy yawned and made her way for the refrigerator to get her already-open bottle of water. She drank the rest of the refreshing liquid before filling half of it back up at the tap and shoving it back into the refrigerator. Leaning against the counter, Teddy started thinking. The clock on the stove read 3:24, and a bit of oil had built up in her roots. The sounds of the city penetrated the walls, whispering in Teddy's ears and sniggering as if sharing a private joke. There was never silence. Teddy needed to be left alone, but, in a city, she felt crowded. She should be used to it, having lived in Denver her whole life, but she felt as if she never noticed the bodies pressed against hers until that very moment. She was alone in her apartment, but it didn't feel that way. Teddy hung her head, trying to ignore the noise. She had to concentrate. She had to find Charlie. She had been working on it since the end of May. It was currently June thirtieth, the excitement from two days prior mostly worn off.

Ivy's wedding was on July twenty-seventh—a Saturday. Teddy would be leaving the sixteenth, and she had already sent Ivy her measurements so her dress could be made. Teddy trusted that Ivy, a designer, would choose tasteful dresses for the bridesmaids, and she was happy to be the Maid of Honor. Teddy had ten days to figure out where Charlie was before she left for New York City for two weeks. Teddy wasn't even sure if Charlie would be in the same place by then, but she wasn't about to give up simply because of 'what-ifs'.

She'd keep working, but Allison was going to be dragging her across Denver to help her search for a house. Jennifer, too, had wanted to spend time with her future sister-in-law. With their own wedding plans to go over, she and PJ were going to stay in Denver, and Gabe had his internship. Teddy's parents would have come, but her mom wasn't able to get time off from work. Her dad had decided to stay behind with her. Ever since hearing PJ's new song, Teddy hadn't felt quite right leaving so soon, but it was only for two weeks. Plus, she couldn't very well miss Ivy's wedding. With a sigh, Teddy headed to her bathroom to wash up. As soon as she was cleaned up, she'd go back to the letter.

**XXX**

Sunlight spread across the land as the morning stretched forward, and Allison opened the door, pocketing the straightened paper clip and Swiss army knife. Picking the lock of the townhouse's front door had taken only seconds, a half-minute at most. She would need to tell James to get a new lock and maybe even spring for a cheap security system. The man slept like a rock and wouldn't be able to hear an intruder unless something blew up. Allison sauntering into the kitchen as if she owned it proved this. She wore spiked heels that gave another two inches to her height of five-foot-one, and she was wearing another one of her tank tops due to the heat. She adjusted her high ponytail and stopped in front of the coffee-maker. She reached into the cabinet and took down two large mugs, a paper filter, and the coffee grounds. Allison thought it'd be nice to have coffee ready for the night owl, and he never made it correctly anyway—too weak.

In the bread box, Allison found two remaining slices of a loaf, so she took one and got out a plate. She then popped it into the toaster and went to find the butter and jam. She only found some honey, so she got that out and waited for the bread to become dark and crisp. She leaned against the counter and crossed her legs, using her hands on the edge to keep her up. The tips of her hair brushed the skin just below the base of her neck as she swayed slightly, feeling a bit bored. Although still slightly tired from the house-hunting the day before, Allison was ready for the new day, and she smiled. The smile turned into a snicker when a **thud** came from upstairs, followed by an "Ow".

_Sleeping Beauty awakens_, thought Allison.

Her toast popped up with a low **ding! **as shuffling came from upstairs, and she just readied her breakfast, not bothering to shout up to James that she was inside. She figured he'd find out as soon as he got downstairs anyway.

The coffee began to gurgle as dark brown liquid slowly trickled into the glass pot, the smell filling the room. She took a bite of her toast and listened as James stomped around upstairs. It sounded as if he were not fully conscious yet. Allison knew he wasn't much of a morning person, and, when they were younger, it was that fact that had driven her to pull pranks on him. He was like an older brother to her, and, as his honorary little sister, it had been her duty to annoy the hell out of him. Allison smirked at the memories as she finished her toast and brushed the crumbs away from her mouth and off of her orange tank top. It wasn't long before James finally started to come down the stairs as Allison picked up her plate. She did not think much of it as she turned to go to the sink, but, in the center of the small kitchen, she froze, finding herself on the wrong end of a small handgun. In shock, the plate fell from her hands and shattered upon contact with the tiled floor.

James's dark curls fell into his red-orange eyes, which soon closed as he exhaled sharply and eased his stance. The gun went onto the counter, but, before he could speak, Allison exclaimed, "Dammit, James! I try to do something nice for you, and _this_ is the thanks I get!"

His eyes turned pale pink as they narrowed, his low brow pinched, and his thin lips twisted into a slight scowl. "Who's the one that broke into the building, here? And how'd you get in, anyway?" He took a few breaths and bent down to open one of the cabinets and get out the small broom and dust pan. He tossed them over to Allison. He then pinched the bridge of his Roman nose, which he often did to calm himself down.

Taking a step back, Allison caught the dust pan awkwardly, and the broom clattered to the floor. "You need new locks," she replied as she got to the ground to clean up the pieces of broken plate. "It's more fun to let myself in than to wait for you to wake up."

"It's unnatural for a person to get up before the _sun_." James yawned, his celadon eyes going to the coffee-maker. "How long?"

"Just a couple of minutes. You have enough time to go put in your contacts before you scare everyone outside." Allison dumped the shards into the trashcan and went to put the broom and dustpan away as James left the room.

"Right. Try not to break anything else, okay?" he requested as he headed up the stairs.

"Hey, whose fault was that?"

"The woman who broke into my house!"

Allison harrumphed and got out the cup of sugar. She gave a short yawn as she set it next to the mugs, thinking about the day she had spent with Teddy. They had looked at about ten houses, but they were all either too far out of Teddy's price range or not what she was looking for. It had been exhausting trying to find those houses, and it had been even tougher trying to keep Teddy away from houses she would like and could afford—especially without looking suspicious. Allison hated lying to friends. She should just be able to tell her flat out what was going on with Charlie, but orders were orders.

Even if orders _hadn't_ come from the Phoenix.

For crying out loud, she had to _break into Teddy's apartment_ just to deliver a letter from Charlie! It had been James delivering the letters while Teddy was staying in Vienna, and Allison enjoyed calling him the "stalker ex-boyfriend" just to irritate him. The two of them had been reduced to messengers. Sure, their official titles were Protectors, but she had tried explaining that the Giltebreks wouldn't waste resources on shaking down Teddy or the other family members when it was obvious they didn't know anything. Still, Phoenix Vargas had argued that it was precautionary, and he promised that this was only temporary. He was sure that the Giltebreks would soon give up on Charlie if her blogs continued to receive more flames than believers. He wanted to keep from relocating families, as it would become much more suspicious if they had to do it too many times.

Of course, she had always preferred action to being a passive observer. She had realized quickly that being a Wing was like when a kid dreamed of being a policeman or detective, thinking he or she would be busting down evil-doers and become a hero—only to realize that that was only ten- to twenty-percent of the work, leaving the rest in a desk doing paperwork or just lurking around as a scout.

It was boring and made her itchy for action, and she wished she could have gone in Scarlett's place. Poor woman had wanted to stay in D.C. with her husband and kids. Allison admitted that she would have hated to have to leave Krystle, but kids needed their mother. Allison wished Scarlett had fought more to fulfill that need.

"Alright, I'm back." James's words drew her out of her thoughts, his eyes now a deep, chestnut brown. Being a Witch, James's eyes changed color with his emotions, so he had to wear colored contacts as to not freak anyone out.

"Good, 'cause the coffee's ready, and I'm sure you're going to need caffeine while I update you." Allison smirked at his frown as she poured his coffee. "Black?"

"Pour it half-way, and I'll add some water."

Allison wrinkled her flat nose. "You're watering it down?"

"You make _espresso_ taste like _hot chocolate_." James took the mug and set it on the counter. He then got another mug and filled it partway with water before putting it into the microwave. "I'd rather not die of a heart attack. Now, you can go ahead and start talking. I don't need caffeine to function like I used to."

"Hey, that's the only way to make good coffee. Anyway, Teddy wants to look for a house. We were supposed to go today, but Charlie transported that letter to me just in time. Teddy's probably going to find it when she wakes up this morning and will want to spend the morning by herself." Krystle had been the one to find the letter on the dining table, handing it over when Allison had finally gotten back from her outing with Teddy. She had broken into the blonde's apartment at about 10:30, relieved to find her asleep so she could place the letter on the dresser. "Why'd Charlie send it to me, anyway?"

"She sends it where Scarlett tells her, and Scarlett doesn't know my new address." The microwave dinged, and James retrieved the hot water. "You think Teddy's getting close to solving Scarlett's and Charlie's little puzzle?"

"You think Teddy's just going to come up to me and say, 'Hey, my missing sister's been sending me these letters, and I figured out that she's been sending me clues to tell me where she's been'? Really?"

"You're already breaking into the woman's apartment. I figured you would have taken the opportunity to search her things. That used to be one of your favorite hobbies." James poured the water into his coffee and then took a sip.

Allison drank some of her sugar-laced coffee, feeling the warmth flow down her throat. "Watch it, you little stalker ex-boyfriend."

James glared, staring down at the woman. "Shut up, and you're not one to call me little." He smirked as Allison narrowed her eyes. "Now, why's Teddy searching for a house? She said in college that she wanted to find a job that would let her travel. She didn't really seem like the type ready to just settle down someplace for the rest of her life. Especially in the same place she's _already_ lived her entire life."

"Not to mention it doesn't fit into 'the plan'." Allison used air quotes, still frustrated. She had heard Sierra and James talk about 'the plan', but she still had no idea what it was.

"It's her choice, Alli. We're not supposed to force people into this sort of life. We're all about freedom of choice."

"We're being hypocrites. What choice? They're completely clueless! How are they supposed to make a choice if they don't know all the facts? Isn't our job to inform the public? Isn't our job to get people to realize what's going on so that we can defeat the Giltebreks?"

Sighing, James set down his coffee next to Allison's. "_Our_ job is to _protect_. We're—"

"_Hypocrites_." She sounded out each syllable. "Just because our _description_ says protector, doesn't mean we've lost our voices! Every Phoenix since Jonathon Giltebrek has told us that nothing can get rid of our voices, reign in our hearts and minds. And both of mine are saying that the Duncans deserve to know."

"You think I don't want to tell them?" His eyes stayed the brown of his contacts, but they didn't need to change color for Allison to see the hurt in them. She stared into his eyes until he finally looked away. Her eyes then fell to the forgotten gun. This hadn't been simple precaution or understandable fear. This was something much more, and, before she knew it, Allison's heart was thundering within her chest.

"What aren't you telling me?"

_Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,  
><em>_By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,  
><em>'_Through thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, 'art sure no craven.  
><em>_Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -  
><em>_Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'  
><em>_Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'_

_- "The Raven" (stanza 8) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	17. Required to Bear

"_If a child can't learn the way we teach, maybe we should teach the way they learn." - Ignacio Estrada_

The pain was unbearable, making Charlie just want to curl up in a ball on the cool floor of the kitchen area. Her hands were pressed against the counter so she could keep her balance, pain raging just beneath her stomach. She felt hot, though she wore only a light green camisole and black shorts, and sweat coated her skin and beaded down her face, which was contorted in pain. Her hair was plastered to her head, neck, and shoulders; her arms began to shake as she took deep breaths through her mouth.

She tasted something foul, and she was all-too conscious of Sierra drumming her fingertips on the counter behind her. The cruel woman had gotten the idea that the pain of Charlie's cramps would serve as a wonderful motivator to create a pain charm. The metal pot on the stove held the needed herbs, crushed and mixing with the oils and water that had been gathered from the rain last night. Licking her lips, Charlie forced herself to get the glass spoon and began to stir the mixture counterclockwise.

"Please, please, _please_ just make this. The pain's making it hard to concentrate," Charlie begged, trying to keep her hand steady as she stirred. When Sierra stayed quiet, Charlie continued, "Sierra, _please_. I don't beg often. Just let me lie down!" Her eyes squeezed shut, her brow pinched, and she gripped the spoon harder than she should. _Crap, the room's beginning to spin._

Taking a breath, Sierra's fingertips took on a quicker tempo, grating on Charlie's nerves. "I go through this pain too, you know. Every month. Besides, if I make all these charms for you, how are you supposed to learn? It's just a simple charm. They use little energy to make. It's not like I'm making you learn a levitation spell right now."

Arguing with Sierra was sometimes like arguing with a wall, so Charlie only nodded and loosened her grip, not wanting to snap the spoon. Sierra had been ecstatic about finding a magic shop, which could normally be found in big cities, which was where mages living on Earth tended to live among the Humans. Charlie had been happy as well, though that was before the cramps had started. Her lessons had normally consisted of simple spells that only required concentration and a spoken word. This was only the third time she learned how to prepare and execute a charm. The first had been a simple disguise to change her eye color for several hours, which she tried out in London. The second had been much more complicated. It was supposed to help bring memories forth from the subconscious, but Charlie had messed up on it. That had made Sierra decide to try something simpler. She had almost smiled when she found Charlie whimpering in bed, asking for some pain pills.

"Have you been counting?" Sierra asked abruptly.

"Uh…"

She laughed softly. "That's okay. Ten more circles. Then move the pot. After it begins to cool, drop in the rock crystal. Amber's better for cramps, but rock crystal works just as well for pain charms. Drop it from several inches up, and don't move out of the way when some drops land on you."

Giving another nod, Charlie did as told. Due to their tight budget, Sierra hadn't been able to buy all she wanted, especially since they had to think about what they would be able to carry around. Actually, they had been able to get many of the supplies just by trading the pendulum Sierra had kept from Victoria. She had explained that because the pendulum did not choose her, it was likely it would not have worked as well as it should.

Charlie hadn't really understood, but she didn't really complain, not really knowing exactly what they'd use a pendulum for anyway. She and her friends had used an Ouija board once when they were nine or ten, just goofing around. Afterwards, Laura (it had been in her room) swore up and down that her house was being haunted by the ghost they had contacted, and it _freaked them out_. Laura's mom had believed her and had burned sage as she chanted while going through the house. Charlie didn't really want to go through something like that again. After that, she had always politely declined spending the night there even when Laura said the ghost was gone.

The rock crystal was next to the stove, and she dropped it in, allowing the numerous drops to hit her abdomen and chest, further dampening the cloth that stuck to her sweat-coated skin. She had tried counting the drops that had come out from the pot, but they'd been too quick. It was likely there'd been between thirty and forty.

Charlie had never expected numbers and mathematics to have such a huge part in magic, but she didn't mind, seeing as it was mostly simple arithmetic. It was only with higher spells and charms that she needed algebra or trigonometry. That was why Sierra had been so pushy when it came to teaching Charlie higher math, wanting to teach her to protect herself if anything happened. Charlie didn't want to think about that. She wasn't so naïve as to think that it would all be okay, especially after what had happened in Kenya, but she had to hope that they would at least, not just survive, but live. People could only live three months without hope. Charlie had learned that when taught the Rule of Threes. If she lost hope, she lost everything. She and her guardians had gone too far to lose everything.

"Okay," said Sierra, breaking though Charlie's train of thought, "the stone's been in there long enough. Take it out with the glass spoon, and dry the stone by rubbing it over your hands. Just draw your hands in an up-and-down motion as you hum—any song you wish. It doesn't matter. With each round, the pain will slowly ebb away."

"If I did it right," Charlie mumbled, getting the spoon and scooping out the stone.

"Confidence, Charlie. Confidence. It's all you have sometimes."

With a snort, Charlie dropped the rock crystal into her left hand, set down the spoon, and did as she had been told. She took a deep breath before she began to hum a song from her _Harry Potter_ soundtrack back home. Her brow was still pinched, and she stuttered a bit as she hummed. Slowly, she relaxed, feeling the pain melt away from her. After about a minute, it was nearly completely gone, and she breathed a sigh of relief and grasped the stone in her right hand as she sunk to the floor, back against the cabinet. "Thank you…"

"Good job, Charlie." Sierra smiled, but when the door opened then slammed shut, it became strained. "Hey, Red…"

The teenager nearly giggled. She knew Scarlett didn't approve of these types of lessons, most likely thinking of her own daughter maybe having to go through something like it when she got older. Scarlett's touch was always softer, and she did not approve of many of Sierra's teaching methods, such as using pain as a motivator for learning a charm. Scarlett would probably never trust her sister to ever babysit her kids.

"What the hell…?" Not bothering with greetings, Scarlett dropped the canvas bag of groceries in the archway and went over to Charlie, knelt down, and felt her forehead. "You alright, sweetie? What's wrong?" Before Charlie could respond, Scarlett turned around to face Sierra. "What'd you do?"

"Taught her how to make a pain charm." Sierra gave a smile, but her eyes were a degree wider than usual. "She got it right the first time 'round. You should be proud of her. Took me five tries and you three. Not to mention it was _six_teen when _we_ started learning charms. I say we give her some applause." To try and loosen up Scarlett, Sierra began clapping, and, this time, Charlie did giggle. It was nice to see Sierra sweat now and again.

"Sea, do the world a favor and _never_ become a teacher." Scarlett sighed and shook her head as she helped Charlie up and brought her over to the couch. "I'll bring you something to drink." She turned back to look over at the other guardian. "Unless you want to teach at one of those delinquent schools. They need people like you to give those kids a kick in the butt and wish they had never misbehaved in the first place."

"You know the eighth amendment would never let me be a teacher at a school like that," Sierra laughed. "Anyway, you were running errands, Charlie was in pain, and she needed to learn a charm like that anyway."

"Sometimes orthodox methods are best," Charlie called from the living room, separated from the kitchen by an archway. "I don't mind it being more boring. Really."

"You learned, didn't ya?" Sierra called back.

"And if I did it wrong?"

"There's pain pills in Scarlett's pack. You woulda been fine, either way." The sound of a slap came from the kitchen. "Ow! Come on, Scarlett! It's not like I was dangling her over a shark tank or something."

Sighing, Scarlett shook her head as she brought a small cup of water over to Charlie. She grabbed it with her left hand, the stone still in her right. She smiled and mouthed a word of thanks as she took a sip. Scarlett gave a nod and returned the smile before going to the kitchen, and Charlie sighed again. This charm was much about as effective than a pill, and she didn't need to worry about losing a large amount of energy like when she had first learned that transportation spell.

It had taken some persuading with Sierra to let her send letters to Teddy, but she was a softie when it came to the subject of family. It was very important to her, and she had eventually allowed Charlie to write the letters, and Scarlett had taught her the transportation spell, telling her where a man by the name of Mitchell Cross was staying in Vienna. Scarlett had explained that Mitchell would deliver the letter discreetly as well as making sure Teddy was safe. Unfortunately, Charlie had no idea what to expect, and too much energy had flown out of her at the casting, so she ended up passing out for several hours and woke up extremely hungry. The next time had been better, but it wasn't until the tenth or eleventh lesson in spell casting she had actually learned to control the flow of energy.

Foot tapping, Charlie drank half of the water placing the cup on the hardwood floor next to the chair. She tapped out a beat she had played on Emmett's drums when he offered to teach her a few things. She had loved the drums and had even been told by her dad that she had shown some talent even as a toddler. Though, unlike Teddy and PJ, Charlie had never planned to be famous in music. She had never been sure _what_ she wanted to be, though, like many little girls, she had wanted to be a princess when she was three.

_Un_like many little girls, she had wanted to be a warrior princess rather than one waiting for her prince. After that, her career choice had changed every year. Now, it seemed to have been chosen for her, years before she would have expected. She wasn't complaining—well, not _all_ the time. She was sure she would have been either a blogger or journalist anyway.

"Thinking of a song?" Sierra walked into the room and sat in the other chair, rubbing her right shoulder—Charlie guessed that was where Scarlett had hit her.

"Yeah, I used to play the drums a little."

The corners of Sierra's mouth fell slightly, and she leaned forward, legs crossed and hand extended to make a small gesture. "So… You're practically a professional writer, _and_ you can play the drums?" Sierra sat back up and gave a bark of laughter. "Dang, and I'm a tone-deaf math geek who had to use Hooked on Phonics."

"And you _still_ can't spell worth crap," Scarlett amended, sitting on the arm of Sierra's chair. She smiled at Charlie. "She was mad because I was already reading at a sixth grade level when I was in the third grade."

"I wasn't mad that you were reading at a sixth grade level," Sierra argued in an even tone. "I was mad that you bragged about it."

"Well, you always bragged about skipping ahead in math."

"You were always bragging about how many AR points you were getting and how much your teachers liked you. I had to brag about _something_."

Charlie raised her eyebrows as she rubbed her thumb over the rock crystal. "Your teachers liked you?"

Laughing softly, Scarlett smiled. "Yeah, they never caught me whenever I played a prank. Someone else was always blamed."

"Ain't she an angel?" Sierra inquired sarcastically, earning another slap on the shoulder. "Dang, Red!" She rubbed her shoulder and looked back to Charlie. "Get dressed, now. We're in _Paris_, for Divines' sakes! We can start your history lesson. Last time I was in Paris, it was for a school trip, and it was only for five days. That's not even enough time to tour one exhibit in the Louvre! So go on, and all you have to do is keep that crystal rock in your pocket. It works best when touching your skin, but keeping it in your pocket should be good enough to help the pain."

"Okay." Charlie smiled widely and went up the white, spiral staircase in the corner. She clutched the stone and paused when she reached the top, listening to the two sisters for a while.

"We need to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower," Scarlett suggested.

"No. Too risky."

"Who ever heard of going to Paris without visiting the Eiffel Tower?"

"We'll visit it. We just won't go to the top."

"You can't be serious." Charlie could almost picture Scarlett putting her hands on her hips.

"What if there's an attack? We can't just hop onto the elevator and hope for the best."

"Fine. We'll get some parachutes and go all double-o-seven on their asses!"

Giggling, Charlie went into her room and changed into her empire-waist tunic. She then put on some jeans and stuffed the crystal rock into her left pocket, taking the sweat-soaked clothes into the bathroom so she'd remember to wash it later. There was a laundry place just down the road, but Charlie preferred sink-washing now. She walked out of the bathroom and went to get her boots. The mud had been cleaned off long ago, but brown still stained the grey. She had gotten them nearly six months ago when her feet had grown too big for her old ones. After pulling them on, Charlie headed down the stairs, only feeling slightly dizzy and even a little hungry. She was so glad that the pain charm worked.

Things were getting easier, and she felt like she could finally relax for a while. Maybe it was the city. Maybe it was that she was no longer feeling pain where, a little over a year ago, she hadn't even knew she _could_ feel such agony. Whatever it was, Charlie was going to enjoy it. Almost a week ago, Charlie had been told by Scarlett that a Wing back home contacted them. It turned out that someone had been trying to reach her via e-mail. She wasn't told his name; she was only told that he worked for some magazine that needed information about the Giltebreks and their plans with weather control. Charlie had asked why the guy didn't just read her blog, but Scarlett had replied that he probably just needed a personal response. Well, he wasn't going to get a face-to-face if that was what he wanted, but Charlie had been writing up a message that outlined all she knew about the Giltebreks and weather control. She was almost done and just needed to transport it to the friend back in Denver—Charlie only knew her as "Ann".

It didn't matter. Charlie loved knowledge and had always wanted to know everything, but she had learned over the years to figure out which information was more relevant compared to the others. Right now, her focus was taking the information she was given and writing about it as Clarisse Winston. Along with that, she also had to focus on the (usually) impromptu lessons made up by the Thompson sisters, and those usually took up most of her brain power. Why they had to turn almost _everything _into a lesson was beyond Charlie, but she had to appreciate their trying to teach her more than shooting and evading. Now, though, all she had to do was help Scarlett persuade Sierra to let them go to the Eiffel Tower.

**XXX**

Patricia had stopped calling him, e-mailing him, and, last Spencer had heard, she had even moved out of her apartment. It shouldn't matter to Spencer, but it worried him somewhat. She'd actually move _just_ because of a breakup? Oh well. Maybe she'd find someone she could trust (and wouldn't stalk). That could leave Spencer to find someone as well when the time came, and he was glad not to have her always calling or leaving up to six messages in his inbox. The day after she had stormed out of his townhouse had been her last message: _You made the wrong choice, and now you're going to have to live with it._

At first, Spencer had taken it as a threat, watching over his shoulder every so often, but after a few days, he realized that Patricia had left and had probably only wanted to scare him. It was then Spencer had decided to finally put her out of his mind, but it seemed that even his memories of her stalked him.

Why was it that certain memories were so tough to get rid of? The mind was odd in how memories were stored. It was downright bizarre in how it chose which stored memories would be sent into the conscious mind and which would remain in the subconscious. It was said that no one ever really forgot anything—certain things were just pushed back into the subconscious. There were times when Spencer could vaguely recall a nightmare he had when he was three or when he had gotten lost in the mall when he was four. There were full months in middle and high school he couldn't remember, but there were certain conversations he could remember word for word.

Now, his brain chose all of those memories that involved his crazy ex-girlfriend. He tried to drown them out with music and work, but memories tended to be very persistent. Fast-paced music that made Spencer tap his foot was pounding through the room, and, before him, the article for the Giltebreks controlling the weather was nearly written. Plugged into his laptop was his external drive, which held all of his written works as well as his music files, but Spencer also had one of his many flash drives on his desk. He always saved his work on his external hard drive and a flash drive just to make sure he had his work ready in case Murphy's Law decided to strike.

It was that law that used to get him in trouble in the beginning of high school. He'd wait until the last day to write a paper or do a project, and, all of a sudden, his computer would crash, his work would suddenly delete itself, the electricity would go out, someone would run into him and make him drop the project, or some other thing that would make Spencer feel like pulling his hair out.

Music swirled through the air as Spencer typed, the sensitive keys (flat and looked more like square outlines on the thin, translucent board) only needing a tap before they sent their messages to the detachable screen. He had gone out to a nearby club the night before, getting three numbers just from his dancing, but not it was time to work. He rubbed his eyes in the middle of typing, wishing that he had come home earlier than midnight. It was still early, and Spencer felt like he was running on empty. He'd sleep a couple extra hours, but this article was due to Mr. Yumn in just a few days. He was only halfway through the piece, and Clarisse _still_ hadn't responded. It didn't matter anymore, seeing as he already had his entire thing outlined, but the thoughts of this young writer were other pieces of his memory that had burrowed into his consciousness.

After a half-hour, Spencer changed the playlist on his iPod, and he decided to take a rest to have lunch. He saved the file to the flash drive on his desk before leaving his room, going into the kitchen. He could faintly hear the music from downstairs, and he got out a microwavable container of chicken soup from the pantry, thinking about the latest conversation he had with Blue, which had taken place two days ago:

This time, Blue wanted to meet in the park in the late afternoon as the sun was getting ready to set. He sat on a bench under an aspen tree, reading a book. Every novel Spencer had seen him with was either a memoir or some kind of true story—usually having to do with the military or counterintelligence. This one was _GHOST: Confessions of a Counterterrorism Agent_ by Fred Burton, but it didn't really look like Spencer's kind of book.

He enjoyed spy and war stories, but most of them were fiction. Of course, though, Blue would just smirk and say that real life was usually more unbelievable than fiction and therefore more entertaining. Blue said that he didn't need fantasy when there were so many real stories out there that provided everything fiction did without having to distort the facts. It was this appreciation and love for the truth that let Spencer know that this man in either his late twenties or early thirties could be trusted.

Though he never looked up from his book, Blue definitely noticed Spencer's approach. "'For three years, they have been watching us. Their many plans included an operation to assassinate several key leaders, including the UN secretary general and Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak. The planners were especially anxious to take out Mubarak and any other Egyptian diplomatic officials. They had particular hatred for that regime, since the sheikh and some of his followers had been captured in Egypt and tortured during their incarceration.'" His voice was calm as he read, and as Spencer sat down beside him, he marked the page before closing the book. "That was in chapter thirty, which was titled 'The Colonel's Revelations'. It is a very interesting book so far. You sure you do not want to borrow it? Or maybe a book about the KGB would suit your fancy. The Cold War _is_ always an interesting topic."

"No thank you," replied Spencer, watching as Blue set his book to the side. "I still have many books to read for my articles."

"Plural now." He adjusted his hat, using it to shadow his face. Along with the hat and sunglasses, he was also wearing a dark leather duster despite the heat. He said he was fine, but Spencer could see the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead and upper lip. The jacket was open, showing his azure shirt—he knew about the name Spencer had given him.

"Yes," Spencer affirmed. "My boss decided to make a series about the Giltebreks. The last one was basically an introduction, and this one will be about weather control. You said you had some information about that?"

"I do. I guess you haven't yet been contacted by Clarisse?" He fiddled with the simple, pewter band on the ring finger of his left hand. Spencer vaguely remembered Blue telling him that pewter represented eternal love where his wife was from. Sometimes it seemed he was ready to tell Spencer everything except his real name.

"No, she hasn't contacted me." Spencer took out a memo pad and favorite ball-point pen. "You said she travels often. Does she also avoid technology that would allow others to track her?" He saw Blue smile. "She's in hiding, isn't she? Does it have something to do with her blog? These Giltebrek people… they're…?"

"Trying to find and execute her, yes." He gave a nod. "She was offered money at first, but she turned them down." Blue met his eyes, and Spencer suddenly wished that he'd take off those sunglasses. "You're beginning to wonder if I'm losing it." It wasn't a question. "I've never given you information I wasn't sure about before. There's nothing to change that now. You can trust my answers, even if you don't know how I get the information in the first place. You've been getting a feeling like you're being watched or followed, right?"

Spencer gave a nod. "But it's just a feeling. It's just from after hearing all of these stories."

"Really?" Blue gave a smirk. "Look behind—not now!" That last bit was quick and just above a hiss. "Disguise it by getting another memo pad from your briefcase. Don't make eye contact, and don't linger. Just a quick glance but still enough to remember what he looks like."

Making his movements natural, Spencer reached over to his briefcase on the ground and opened it. His hand passed over the laptop screen to get one of the pads tucked into the pocket. As he got the top one, he let her eyes come up slightly to see the man sitting on the bench that was ten to fifteen feet from theirs. The man had a sketch pad and looked to be drawing the aspen tree with shading pencils. He had shaggy hair and lightly tanned skin, and he wore an unbuttoned, paint-splattered shirt over a white T-shirt, and his baggy jeans had paint as well as pen marks on them. As Blue told him, Spencer had only given an inconspicuous glance that was only long enough to remember what he looked like. Spencer didn't remember seeing him there when he arrived, so he guessed that the man had just gotten there.

Getting back up, Spencer placed the memo pad in his lap and opened his other one to an empty page. "What about him?"

"He arrived barely one minute after you sat down, and his eyes come to us, not the tree." When Spencer didn't respond, Blue continued, "I guess you don't remember seeing him anywhere. He's good. I only remember seeing him once before, and that's how I really know he's following you."

**xxx**

Sprinkling more pepper over the soup, Spencer thought about that conversation. He trusted Blue's information, but Spencer just could not, _would _not, believe that someone was following him because of his articles on the Giltebreks. How could they figure it out, anyway? He used a pseudonym in the magazine: Alvis Fadeyka. It had been his coworker, Logan Oláh, who suggested this name. He said that Alvis meant "all-knowing", and Fadeyka meant "brave".

Spencer had never pegged himself as either one of those descriptions, but he liked the name (and couldn't think of a nice-sounding one himself, anyway). His work e-mail used this false name, so all of his "informants" only knew him by Alvis or Mr. Fadeyka. There was no way someone would have been able to figure out he was the writer.

They would have had to go through his things in his townhouse or at work.

After swallowing the last bit of chowder, Spencer shook his head. He had to stop thinking about this sort of thing. He wasn't being followed. There was no reason for Blue to lie, but there was every possibility that he could be simply paranoid. The man at the park was just sketching the tree. Blue just _thought_ he was looking at them. Spencer had seen many conspiracy theorists do this. They begin to believe so full-heartedly that the theories are true that their brain instantly starts to make connections where connections couldn't _really_ be made. They started seeing spies, symbols, or codes "in plain sight" where there was actually nothing of significance.

The container went into the trash as the spoon went into the sink, and Spencer ran his hand through his hair as he headed for the staircase. He sneezed when he was halfway up the stairs, and he shook his head, beginning to feel a little tired from the little sleep he had been getting. In his room, Spencer smiled at the Latin American music playing, and he tapped his laptop screen to wake it up. He then sat down and tapped on the bottom square that would bring up his work e-mail. It popped up over his article-in-progress, and Spencer noticed a new message from . He tapped on it twice to open up the message, but it didn't take long for Spencer to realize that the e-mail was from Clarisse Winston.

"Finally."

It wasn't too late either. Immediately, Spencer planned on reading the e-mail and figuring out how to incorporate it into his article. He could tell that this was her style of writing, but it was a little more raw—"unedited" was a good description. There was normally a certain melody to her words that made it sound like poetry as Spencer read. It was like she had been studying meter and wordplay for so long that it had actually become part of her thought process. Her words usually had the stresses that brought upon certain moods and even the small chill as he read on. A few times, the melody was much smoother, but then there'd be hiccups expertly placed to make Spencer pay attention.

This e-mail wasn't like that. The metaphors and analogies were familiar, and there were a few times where the meter was there, but then the stream would break as if boulders had been thrown in to create rapids. The rawness of her wording and tone was like a mental ride as Spencer scrutinized the words and information, but there was still the underlying tone that made Spencer keep reading. It wasn't just what she was saying it but how she was giving it out. Even in this unedited message, her language was more like poetry than prose; she manipulated the language into what she wanted, and it was almost as if she were in the room, saying all of this out loud. The main emotion seemed to be anger, but it was a muted anger, toned down with determination and spirit. There were a few times where the tone and emotion wavered or simply switched. It was at that Spencer realized she had been writing this over the course of some time, taking many breaks—possibly for days at a time. That would explain why it had taken her so long to reply.

Finally, Spencer reached the final paragraph after half an hour, and he could only lean back and blink before staring at the screen. The last paragraph was shorter than all the others, but it contained nothing about weather control. Instead, it was a warning.

Just as Spencer had heard from Blue, Clarisse (or Ann? Was that her real name?) said she was on the run from the Giltebreks. She said she had been offered money in exchange for telling everyone her information wasn't actually true. She had refused and thus became an enemy of the "group of power-hungry elitists". Finally, there was a warning Spencer _knew_ he just had to incorporate into one of the articles. It was about how knowledge was power, but that the Giltebreks had just as much of this power if not more. That meant, to fight that group, they needed numbers. No one could fight or survive alone or separated. They needed to learn to stand together if they wanted to live.

_The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers  
><em>_The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers  
><em>_That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings  
><em>_In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,  
><em>_That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,  
><em>_With muffled music, murmured far and wide.  
><em>_Ah, the Spring time, when we think of all the lays  
><em>_That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,  
><em>_Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,  
><em>_Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,  
><em>_The messages of love that mortals write  
><em>_Filled with intoxication of delight,  
><em>_Written in April and before the May time  
><em>_Shredded and flown, playthings for the wind's playtime,  
><em>_We dream that all white butterflies above,  
><em>_Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,  
><em>_And leave their lady mistress in despair,  
><em>_To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,  
><em>_Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies  
><em>_Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies._

_- "The Genesis of the Butterfly" by Victor Hugo_


	18. A Heart So White

_**Feel free to correct me on my French - I'm still learning.**_

"_There is no clarity. Everything swirls. The old rules are no longer binding, the old truths no longer true. Right spills over into wrong. Order blends into chaos, love into hate, ugliness into beauty, law into anarchy, civility into savagery." - from The Things They Carried_

"_Je suis dans le Louvre, et je dois travailler_," Charlie mumbled bitterly as she strolled past a shelf of Ancient Egyptian jewelry protected behind glass.

She was leading the way through the exhibit to find the answers to the fifteen questions Scarlett and Sierra had come up with the night before. With her notebook and pen, Charlie was supposed to find the answers within different exhibits in the museum, and the second three questions were about the Ancient Egyptians.

At first, Charlie had thought she would have been able to answer them without having to get lost in the museum (again), but she had absolutely _no_ idea what a Mastaba was, or even what the common foods and drinks for the Egyptians were. It had been obvious that her two guardians had tried their best to make sure the questions were those that Charlie didn't already know the answers to. It annoyed her a little, but she guessed that they wanted to make up for the lost time of Charlie not being in school. Still, in the nine days they had been in Paris, every outing had been treated like a lesson. There were only fifteen days left until they would be moving again, and Charlie had wished that they could stay longer. Paris was just so beautiful.

"Just because I don't know what you're saying, doesn't mean I don't know you're complaining," Sierra reminded, and Scarlett smiled.

The two walked behind Charlie, trying to just act like family helping her with an assignment. However, Charlie knew that they were discreetly scoping out each room as they walked and giving hints to help Charlie when she really needed help.

"Though she could be insulting you, and it'd sound like a compliment," Scarlett murmured.

"Yeah, I had fun pretending to be saying nice things to my friends in French when I was actually insulting them," Charlie chuckled and then halted suddenly, causing Scarlett to stop next to her and Sierra behind her. "Huh… Okay, where the heck am I supposed to find this Mastaba thing? And I'm pretty sure we passed that broken column before."

"Here, I've got a map." Scarlett reached into the canvas bag hanging over her right shoulder and brought out a folded map. She handed it to Charlie and secured the bag, which they had used to smuggle in the guns under a false bottom and thick plastic lined the graphite-epoxy mixture. Going into the museum, there had been metal detectors, X-ray machines for the bags, and then a personal search by a security officer.

The high-security had made Charlie's heart hammer within her chest when they entered the large, glass pyramid to go down into the museum, but she was much more at ease when they had later gone into the bathroom to move the guns from their bag into their holsters. Charlie found it odd when she thought about it—feeling safer when she had a gun strapped to her hip. That was why Charlie tried not to think about it much. There were some things Charlie would just keep out of her mind as a way to preserve her sanity. That may be why she wouldn't complain too much about the work. It really helped to distract her from other troubling thoughts.

"Okay…" Charlie looked over the map. "Yeah, this isn't helping much, but it looks like we went around in a circle."

"Then I guess that just leaves the places we missed by walking around in a circle," Sierra stated. "We have all day, don't we?"

"Yeah, but there's paintings in other exhibits I'd like to see. Why'd we put Egyptian questions on here again? Neither of us is exactly interested in Egyptology." Scarlett looked ahead as they approached some stairs, and Charlie made sure not to trip as she turned a different way and began to approach a sphinx in the middle of the wide hallway. Charlie took that as a sign that they were heading the right way.

"We put questions that would lead us through just about every exhibit," Sierra answered. "There's nothing to personal preference. Plus, this way, we can't be tempted to tell her the answers, seeing as we don't really know some of them ourselves."

"Wait, what?" Charlie turned around briefly before looking ahead to make sure she didn't run into anyone. "Then how the heck are you supposed to know if I got the answer right or if the answer's even here?"

Charlie made sure to keep her voice low. Along with searching for the answers to her fifteen questions, she had also been making sure to check out the people. They were from all over the world, but Charlie could still find certain patterns. Patterns and trends were what Sierra and Scarlett had taught her to look for. She also needed to keep an extra eye out for a break in pattern—anything from someone bumping into her to a stray look could mean something, but Charlie needed to keep her mind open. If she kept trying to look for threats, then she would _only_ see threats.

As Sierra took a couple of long strides to be next to Charlie, Scarlett pretended to be interested in some pots as she hung back to take up the rear and leaving Sierra to speak. "We went onto the Louvre's website, so we know the answers are around here somewhere, and we'll be checking your answers when we get back to the apartment."

Charlie groaned softly.

"Hey, you think I like this? I signed up to be a guardian, not a teacher."

"Good," Charlie muttered, "_parce que vous êtes un prof sans espoir_."

Sierra shot her a look. "Again, just because I don't know what you're saying, doesn't mean I don't know you're insulting me. Now, keep searching. You'll find it eventually. Just think of it as a mini-adventure. If you want, I'll even get you a hat and whip."

"Ha-ha…" Charlie cracked a humorless smile. _Why not? I've already got a leather jacket and gun._

In about ten minutes, Charlie found a room with large slabs of stone propped up in some sort of chamber-looking place against the back wall. People walked through the narrow passageway created by a few of the slabs, having to go in a single-file line. Charlie went over to the wall on her right, finding the information she needed for two of the questions. She immediately began jotting down the answers, starting with the food Ancient Egyptians typically ate. She then quickly explained that a Mastaba was a type of tomb with a flat roof, rectangular structure, and sloping sides.

Tucking the pen into the spiral wire holding the notebook together, Charlie went towards the Mastaba recreation, allowing Sierra to go in front of her as Scarlett kept her position behind her. The area was small, and Charlie was glad that there were only two other people within the structure. The young girl gaped at the hieroglyphics, looking over all the pictures that held meaning once thought to have been lost in time. She could remember a few weeks in the fourth grade where Mrs. Mellish had taught them some about the Egyptians, which had mostly just consisted of looking at the hieroglyphics and using them to spell their names and messages they would pass to their friends to decode.

After leaving the tomb, Charlie almost immediately found the answer to the final question for the exhibit, and she took a look at the next three questions. She would need to head over towards the Greek, Etruscan, and Roman Antiquities, so Charlie looked back over at the map, seeing how far she was from it. With a sigh, she wondered why her guardians had to make things so difficult and went down a corridor that led them back to the sphinx. The three were quiet as Charlie led the way, Scarlett and Sierra half-way pretending to be interested in all the exhibits as Charlie focused on trying not to get lost (again).

**xxx**

"Actually, I'm glad you told Ann," Sierra assured, speaking softly into the public phone near the entrance to an underground walkway that would lead to the Arc de Triomphe. She had left the safe house roughly ten minutes ago, trying to find a place to call James. Because of those GPS trackers, she and her sister had dubbed cell phones too dangerous, and Charlie's laptop had been bought under an alias in cash at a store in New Hampshire. So far, it had seemed as if the laptop hadn't been of a problem, and they never risked connecting to the internet more than a few times. Charlie only used it for writing and watching those old videos.

It sounded like James was heaving a sigh in relief. Sierra knew she could be intimidating, but no one (especially those that knew her well) actually _feared_ her. James must have been stressed beyond reason and just needed any piece of information that could help him ease his mind. It made Sierra worry, and she listened closely as he began to speak.

"Good. She's really riled up about them having no clue when they should be able to choose. Ann didn't necessarily like this piece of information," he shuttered a forced laugh to try and ease tension, "but I think she'll try harder to keep them in play." Now it sounded like he slapped himself in the forehead. "Senka Divines! I hate talking like they're our _pawns_! Since when did we become the bad guys?"

"Sometimes you have to look like the villain to be the hero" was Sierra's distant answer. She was still listening, but part of her mind was lost—detached from her body and trying to regain some sort of sense of reason or logic before returning. "Claire doesn't know either. I'm not sure if she even suspects, but… poor girl. She reminds me of me when I was her age and thrust into this life. Stacy had worn her heart on her sleeve. Claire's more like I was. Wearing metal armor and refusing to take it off. Eventually, she may even forget what her heart looks like." _Just like me…_

"Sounds strangely poetic. Am I still speaking to Lynn?" Even though they should be safe, the two still had to use aliases just in case. It always made Sierra feel like she was being paranoid, and, for once, she wanted to feel safe. Unfortunately, she had sacrificed safety to fight for freedom. She didn't want to be forced to choose, but she had. Now she had to ride it out. She was in too far to run under her covers for the other choice.

Why did fighting for freedom have to limit her own? It shouldn't have to be that way, yet it was. Nothing made sense anymore. Everything was better when she was five and all the questions plaguing life had a simple answer. Things needed to be that way again.

"Shut up." Sierra wasn't in the mood for jokes. All these secrets were really eating up the hiding heart she periodically checked just to make sure it was still there. "Okay, Ann knows. And Rachel will…"

"You know we broke up right? Little over three years ago. I'm not exactly going to be able to persuade her to go somewhere with me."

"Details…" Sierra brushed that off. "That's why the plan's been made to be flexible."

It sounded as if James was drinking something, and Sierra guessed it to be coffee. Couldn't the man go one day without caffeine? Sierra took a long breath and mentally counted using prime numbers until James finally responded, "Are we sure about this?"

"I'm not sure about anything."

He was silent for a while. "But to keep them all—"

"They aren't _all_ clueless if you recall. It's probably very hard on them, though." Sierra could only imagine the hell those two were going through, lying to the rest of their family and risking so much.

It amazed her how good a liar a person could be when put on the spot and told that the matter was life or death. It amazed her what a person was willing to risk for their loved ones. Sierra hated that Scarlett had had to stay in Denver to, not only make it seem as if she had nothing to do with the disappearance, but also inform those two of the details she and Sierra had agreed on letting them know.

"I agree." James took another sip of his drink. "I don't like this, though. Who are we to say what justifies the end?"

"Well, I don't see a Guardian or Divine stepping in to guide us, do you?"

When James was silent, Sierra sighed and continued. "I don't like this either, okay? Regardless to popular belief, I'm human, with human feelings. We just have to make sure as few people as possible knows. Right now, it's just you, me, Stacy, and Ann. Jackson and Eli didn't want to know the entire thing. Being researchers, they have a bigger chance of getting taken in for questioning, so…"

"And they can't beat the answer out of you if you don't have it," James finished. "Yeah, I get it. Ann's been wanting to tell Terry, but she can keep quiet." It sounded like James was taking another sip of his drink. "Well, no turning back then."

"We were never able to turn back."

"Sometimes I envy those who are able to walk along with no knowledge of what's going on around them."

"Knowledge is misery. We knew that when we signed on."

Again, James was quiet for a while. "We just didn't know the extent."

"No one ever does."

"Guess not." James heaved a sigh. "We're insane. You know that?"

"Yep. Claire is too. You should have heard the plan she cooked up at our last place. It's a suicide mission, and I have a feeling she's going to bring it up again."

"Can't be any more suicidal than what we're doing."

Sierra laughed humorlessly. "Her plan involves more courage than ours. We're hiding. She wants to get right out there."

"It sounds like you admire her."

"She's a brave little thing. That's for sure."

"You want to change plans?"

"Too many dominos are in place." Sierra wished she could sit down. It was getting a little harder to keep her balance. They had been planning this for so long. It involved so much, and things were already in place or going towards their place. They couldn't just change now.

"I thought we kept it flexible."

"Are you suggesting _double_ suicide?" Sierra's eyes widened, and she was just dumbstruck.

Was he serious? James wasn't one to joke at a time like this, and he did _sound_ serious. Yet… they couldn't do both, could they? It would help, but James didn't know what Charlie had suggested. He was just taking a leap of faith, wanting this all to just end and end now. It could never be that easy, but… Maybe they could speed things up to finally be in their favor?

"Why not?" Sierra could imagine James shrugging nonchalantly. "If we're already holding guns to our heads, what does it matter if we drink poison as well?"

"I'm trying to imagine that the gun is a revolver, has only one bullet, and that we're spinning the cylinder before pulling the trigger."

"Ever the optimist." Was James laughing? "Alright, then there's also six cups in front of us, and only one cup holds the actual poison."

"Great." Sierra exhaled sharply. "Now all we have to do is ask the others to take the gun and cups with us." She paused for a bit. "Bye."

"Bye." James hung up, followed by Sierra, who then turned to walk back towards the apartment.

"_Who are we to say what justifies the end?"_

That question had burned itself into Sierra's mind, and she could not help but think and wonder as she walked. Where was the line? How were they supposed to know when they crossed it? They'd been planning ever since first finding Charlie's blogs. None of them had liked how young the girl was, but being young didn't make her any less of a threat to their opposition, so Scarlett had gone in first after befriending Teddy. James had enrolled at the college as well, and he was introduced to Teddy by Ivy, who had heard of him from Scarlett. They all felt horrible about manipulating the others like that. Sierra especially. She had been the first to think of the plan.

Maybe she _was_ inhuman. Maybe she _was_ heartless. Wasn't that what people had always told her? That she had always been so focused on getting ahead, she hadn't noticed nor cared who she stepped on to get there?

She was no better than the Giltebreks. How could she call herself a Wing? They hadn't even told Phoenix Vargas about this. They had decided to go with it by themselves. Why? Because they wanted to be important? Be the heroes? How dense could they be? It wasn't until Charlie had suggested that plan of hers back in Victoria that Sierra had begun to think about the insanity of her own plan. She just hadn't wanted to call it off. They had left room to be flexible, but that was different from wanting to just abandon it all together.

_Heroes? Charlie, her mom, and her brother are the heroes. They're the strong ones. Scarlett and James are heroes. They're the ones who have been putting up with my insanity. Allison is the hero, for calling us for what we are: hypocrites_. Sierra hung her head as she walked, her curls coming forward to act as a veil.

Counting her steps, Sierra pictured clearly the revolver at her head and the six cups before her. They were hypocrites. Pulling the trigger and drinking the poison themselves was one thing. But forcing others to do it? That was murder. Sierra realized they had only been giving the veneer of free choice. In reality, they were the overlords, keeping those they needed beneath their thumbs—on puppet strings. When did they end up in the black? Before, they had only been playing through the grey. Sierra knew that there was no pure black or pure white with right and wrong, but there was still dark grey and light grey. She needed to remember where she stood. She needed to remember her morals. People weren't pawns or replaceable assets. They were _people_. Life.

At the apartment, Sierra spared the greetings and stormed into the room, slamming the door behind her. She was sure she had startled Scarlett and Charlie, leaving them confused in the living room. Sierra didn't care though and just locked the door before sinking down to the ground, face contorted in pain as she allowed her head to rest on her outstretched arm, her feet pressing against the side of the dresser next to the door. Her other hand went to her neck, and her dark brown spirals fanned out around her as she silently cried. Things shouldn't be this complicated. Things shouldn't be this much of a headache and heartache. She had told James that sometimes they needed to look like villains to be heroes, but what about this was hero-like? Vanquishing the Giltebreks in the end? What about the path _towards_ that end? Sierra needed to make a decision, but she felt like only half of her was there.

With tears pouring down her cheeks, Sierra crawled over to her duffel and reached inside the outside pocket. Beneath the suppressers was a picture. It was wallet-sized and well cared-for. Collapsing back onto the floor, Sierra held it inches from her face, her thumb tracing over that strong jaw as her turquoise eyes locked onto those beautiful and caring grass green eyes. There was a slight hardness to them few ever saw, and Sierra wished for him to be there with her, hands around her waist and face buried in her hair as he whispered into her ear. She needed him. She could almost see that look. That look when she had given those few details about her plan.

"_They're gaining too much power, Seán," she declared, pacing the room, the sky blue walls doing nothing to comfort her. "A-And this way, we'll get two birds with one stone." Her words held a tremor she couldn't hide._

"_I already agreed with you, Sierra. You have to do what you feel to be right." Aggravation stained his voice, putting an edge to his thick accent, which matched that of an Irishman._

His lips had been pressed together tightly, his jaw had been set, and his muscles had been tense. His dirty blond bangs had fallen over his eyes, but Sierra had seen the disappointment and anger. He had wanted something else to be done but could not think of that something else. He had wanted to stick with his morals but was unsure of what they were anymore—just as Sierra was unsure. People had been created in a way they could change and adapt, but, for once, Sierra just wanted everything to stop and stay the same.

It was a wasted wish, and Sierra could not stop the tears as she gazed at the picture of her dear Seán. She wanted to be next to him again. She wanted someone to just lie and tell her that everything would be alright. She wanted to be told that she was a good person with good intentions. She didn't want the truth anymore.

The truth hurt. Knowledge was misery. It was all too true that none of them had known the extent of the pain they were getting themselves into. They were trapped now. Did that make them hypocrites? Trapping themselves now to bring freedom for others later?

"So be it," Sierra whispered, kissing her picture. "But there needs to be changes. You were right, Seán. You said nothing, but you were right. It was in your eyes." Her voice began to crack, and her body shook. "I can't leave anyone in the dark anymore. I've already chosen my gun and poison. They deserve the right to be able to choose to walk away or take it with me."

**xxx**

There was a grunt as Scarlett tried to shove the door open. The grunt was followed by a string of profanities in both English and German, and Scarlett rolled her eyes as she prayed for patience. She turned back to Charlie and pointed to the chair with a snap. It reminded her of sending a dog to the corner for chewing up the pillows, but her mind was elsewhere, tossing away politeness. Scarlett tried to shove open the door once more as Charlie went to sit down with _Animal Farm_, and the woman hissed through the crack in the door, ordering Sierra to move out of the way if she didn't want to find wooden shards through her abdomen. That seemed to work, but the door still only opened a little less than half-way. With the dresser next to the frame, the squeeze was a little tight, but she slipped through and then kicked her sister in the butt with medium force as she closed the door.

"Get off your ass and tell me what's going on," Scarlett commanded. She then cleared her throat and sat on the foot of the nearest bed upon realizing that her tone had been harsher than intended. "What'd James say?"

"Alli knows." Sierra only stared out into space, eyes glistening. Tear trails stained her cheeks, but it looked as if she had dried herself out over the ten minutes she had been left alone in the room.

"She…" Was this what Sierra was upset about?

No, it had to be more. Sierra didn't cry over anything that small. Allison could keep a secret. She would probably hate all of them forever, but she'd keep the secret nonetheless (though Scarlett could expect an earful upon meeting her again).

No, there was something much more—something strong and hard enough to shatter Sierra's armor. It reminded Scarlett of when they were teenagers. Something horrible had happened to them and had shattered Sierra's full-body armor into a million pieces, followed by wrenching out her root of bitterness and tearing it to shreds. It had been a long week, but it ended with Sierra tossing out the poisoned root for good. Hopefully, this would end as another step in Sierra's development.

It was silent in the room for a few moments, and then Sierra pulled herself up and sat with her legs tucked to one side and her back against the door. Her head was back to where her crown pressed against the white-painted wood, and her hair began to make a small pool on the hardwood floor. She was breathing through her mouth now, and her lips were chapped, red in a few spots where she had picked at the skin. She had barely blinked since Scarlett stepped into the room. Her skin looked a little paler, and in her left hand was a wallet-sized picture of Seán.

"Tell me," Scarlett ordered, forcing her tone to be kinder. She had always been better at reeling in her anger and forcing out patience when it seemed as if that shallow pool was dry. Having had two kids, Scarlett had needed to start digging to make that pool deeper, but Sierra always seemed to fill it in again. She was like a giant child with a foul mouth and a (literally) jaw-breaking right hook.

"Red…" Sierra squeezed her eyes shut before opening them partway again. "Do you think they're right? Am I really so heartless that I'm willing to break bones to get to where I want? Am I really so inhuman that I don't even _care_ about the skulls I crushed while getting to the path I want?"

_This _was what was bothering her? Scarlett's heart sank, and she whispered, "Do you feel guilty?"

It was silent for a while as Sierra mulled over that question, her eyes calculating.

"Not about them," she finally said. Her voice was meek, as if embarrassed by her answer. "I feel guilty about _not_ feeling guilt over what I've done and what I've planned _to do_."

Her bottom lip quivered, and Scarlett felt as she had just been dropped back fifteen or sixteen years. Both of them had had a hard childhood. Having both parents as Silver Wings can strain any family relationship. It had only gotten worse when their mom had been found out by a member of the Giltebreks. She had been charged with a crime she never committed and had been forced to run away with her two daughters (Jeremiah Thompson had confessed to his wife's crime as a friend had helped the other three escape). They ended up on Earth, where they settled in South Carolina. Her husband had found a contact to create new identification. They had all needed to lie low, and it had been hard on the two sisters.

"Well…" Scarlett got to the floor to kneel by her sister. "That's a start."

_Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,  
><em>_Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;  
><em>_For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being  
><em>_Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -  
><em>_Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,  
><em>_With such a name as 'Nevermore.'_

_- "The Raven" (stanza 8) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	19. Summer's Ripening Breath

"_We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." - Author Unknown_

She was in Paris. She had to be in Paris. Teddy dug her nails into the armrest as she thought this over, right leg bouncing. Mentally swearing at herself for not figuring it out sooner, Teddy looked out the window and fell into deep thought. She had come to the conclusion of Charlie's location minutes before stepping onto the plane, and she had had half the mind to turn back and try to get a ticket to Paris, France. Yet, she had promised to be at Ivy's wedding, and Teddy was scared. She hadn't wanted to admit it until now when she was so close to Charlie. She was scared. Charlie had left willingly. She had left with full knowledge of what she was doing. It was obvious she wanted Teddy to find her. Otherwise, she wouldn't have bothered to send the letters. This question still stood, however: Did Teddy _truly_ want to find her? Or had it just been a spur-of-the-moment feeling that had swept her up into an adventure she didn't realize she was on until the treasure was in sight? Was the treasure gold, silver, or lead?

Gold held what many wanted. Silver held what many deserved. Lead asked for the seeker to risk all he or she had. Teddy had thought she wanted to find Charlie. She begged for answers but was not sure if she deserved them. Teddy didn't know if she could risk everything. Many put everything on the line in hopes of bringing home three-fold that fortune. Many lost it all because of seconds of shallow thought. Teddy didn't want to be like that, but did she have the time to think over such a decision?

Passing through the gate, Teddy adjusted her purse and headed straight for the baggage claim as her already-scattered thoughts whipped through her mind at breakneck speed, threatening to destroy her brain and send skull fragments across the airport. Her breaths were shallow and jagged, and she waited at the carousel for a while before getting out her cell phone and turning it on. After the lights finished blinking, she saw that Ivy had called her twice—the first time a half-hour ago and the second time ten minutes ago. Her breath began to even out as her lips turned into a half-smile. Even with all this craziness, Ivy was still a constant. Teddy needed that. She needed something to stay the same through everything. She had never thought much about her sanity, thinking that it had skipped her family entirely. Now, however, she was grasping at straws to find complete and coherent thoughts. Her mind was so muddled, nothing seemed to hold any real meaning anymore. Clues were everywhere, but nothing had meaning. Not even family, life, or death. Teddy needed _something_ to stay constant for her to just remember who she was and what she believed. She needed that constant to keep going.

"Call Ivy," Teddy declared into the phone as she put it up to her ear, the carousel's alarm going off. Just before the first suitcase appeared, ringing filled Teddy's ears. It was only after the third one Ivy picked up, sounding stressed and… out of breath?

"Teddy! Finally. Where have you been? I've been calling!" Ivy sounded almost hysterical, but it wasn't the kind of hysteria that made Teddy worried. It was the same tone she had had in the past, like in their senior year when she couldn't find the "perfect dress" for Prom.

Knowing that it would only make her even angrier, Teddy refrained from laughing. She was just so glad to have her constant there, keeping the final shred of sanity Teddy could not afford to lose in place. "I was on the plane. They tend to frown upon using your cell phone when flying."

"Come on," Ivy growled, "everybody knows that 'cell phone use makes the plane crash' thing is just a myth! Besides, this is more important."

Teddy's pink suitcase came into view. "Whoa there, Bridezilla. Calm down. The world isn't ending, and I now have my suitcase." She picked it up and began to wheel it away. "I'm on my way to catch a cab. What's the address?"

"Downing Street in Manhattan—you'll see three of my bridesmaids out front waiting. Michael and I are living in his house together. T, you are gonna _die_ when you see the inside of it."

There was the usually excited Ivy. It was safe to bet that Michael's house was large and extravagant. Teddy had already known that he was rich, but she had never really tried to picture what his house would look like.

"Okay, got it. I'll see you soon, alright?"

"'Kay, girl. Bye."

"Bye."

Once the call ended, Teddy stuffed the phone back into her purse and left the airport, looking around for a cab. She stood at the sidewalk and held an arm out, and it didn't take long before one stopped before her, a tall man with thinning, blond hair getting out of the driver's seat. They exchanged few greetings, and Teddy told him the address as her suitcase was loaded into the trunk. She then got into the back as the driver got back behind the wheel. He made no attempts at conversation as Teddy pulled back out her cell phone and typed in a text to Allison, Carrie, Stanley, and Alice: _I'm in NYC and about to help Ivy with the wedding. Wish me luck._

**xxx**

Sitting at one of the tables with a half-empty flute of champagne in front of her, Teddy watched as Ivy turned and threw the bouquet into the crowd of women pushing each other. They clawed at each other for the bouquet of carnations and baby's breath, and Teddy giggled as she took another sip of the pale gold liquid, bubbles popping over her tongue and down her throat. There was a slight hint of vanilla, making it much better than the cheap stuff Teddy had occasionally had with friends on New Year's Eve.

Once the red-haired bridesmaid wrestled the bouquet from the blonde woman in the pink dress, she cheered, jumping up and down. Lucky for the bridesmaids, Ivy had great taste and had given them simple black dresses with bell-shaped long sleeves and short skirts that fluffed out like a ballerina's skirt. Teddy wore the same, but it had gold and silver accents along the hem, sleeves, and V-shaped neckline. A friend of the redhead helped her pull up her neckline, as the giddy woman hadn't noticed that part of her bra was showing. The two went to put the bouquet at their table as the fast-paced music started once more, and Ivy lifted the ornate skirt of her flowing, white dress as she went through the crowd and over to Teddy.

Eyes wide, Teddy thought, _Oh no_ as Ivy grabbed her wrists and yanked her up to her feet. "What?"

Though Ivy was in heels and Teddy was in flats, the blonde was still nearly an inch taller.

"Dance," Ivy urged, dark eyes sparkling. "Mingle. There's _more_ than enough cute, singe men here."

"Hey, Michael!" Teddy got her wrists out of Ivy's death grip and waved, hoping he could be her salvation.

Though tall and somewhat lanky, Michael had a handsome face and was clean-cut but for a thin moustache. His black hair was cut short, and his coffee-toned skin had a radiance that became more apparent as he smiled. "Thank you for coming, Teddy. I've heard a lot about you from Ivy." He had a baritone voice that didn't match his body, which screamed "geek"—all he needed were suspenders and the Erkel glasses.

"Sweetie, we need to help Teddy find someone. What about your best man, Jake?" Ivy placed her hands on her wide hips, and Michael placed one of his large hands on her bare shoulders. Ivy had gotten her hair done earlier, the dark locks up in braids and spirals atop her head.

"Engaged."

Salvation gone. Teddy cocked a hip and put her hands on her waist, trying to mimic Ivy. "I thought we were done with this."

Ignoring her, Ivy turned to look at her new husband. "Dale?"

"History of cheating, and I don't want to hear on the news you killed him." He smirked at her, and Ivy scowled, but it soon morphed back into a small smile.

Finally, someone that Ivy couldn't stay mad at. Teddy found her own irritation evaporating until Ivy said another name.

"Luke?"

"Making out with one of your bridesmaids behind the tent."

"Huh?" A questioning gleam lit up Ivy's eyes. "Which one?"

"The really tall one. Ash-Leigh?"

Ivy shook her head, biting back a smile. "Five-hour rebound. Nice." She looked back up as Teddy exhaled sharply. "Chris?"

Michael opened his mouth to answer as Teddy went around them and towards the dance floor. "I'm dancing, I'm mingling, but if I embarrass myself, it's your fault!" Teddy made her way into the group, barely hearing Ivy.

"Not my fault you never got dance lessons!"

Music pounding through her body, Teddy found the downbeat and began to move, doing as Catherine and Leonie had taught her in those clubs. Her feet tapped and stomped, adding to the vibrations spilling over the raised dance floor. The white cloth of the tent's walls made the light seem brighter than it was, cancelling the darkness of night from that square packed with people and mostly-empty tables and chairs. Teddy allowed the music to flow through her and swirl up around her. She imagined the vibrant reds and gold flashing and shifting about her body once again, her lips stretching into a wide smile. Her cheeks took on a red-pink tint as she moved, eyebrows shooting up as she felt another body come towards hers. Through her lashes, Teddy saw a man she didn't recognize from any of the groomsmen, putting him as one of the men in the audience. Bronze wire framed his square glasses, which sat upon the near-flat bridge of his nose. His dark brown eyes sparkled as he smiled.

"Good evening." His accent sounded like he hailed from Brooklyn. "I'm Nick."

"Teddy."

"Nice name." His dark, slanted eyes seemed to glow as he smiled wider, showing his teeth. "How long have you known the new Mrs. Parker?"

"Since third grade," Teddy answered. "We met when she stole my cookies during snack time." She laughed at the memory, not feeling as uneasy as she thought she would have. The reception was much less awkward now that Teddy was out on the dance floor rather than watching from the table.

"Wow," Nick laughed, some of his raven hair falling over his forehead. "I know Michael from work."

"Nick!" A woman came up to them, the long skirt of her dark green dress lifting over her legs as she danced. Her eyes were an interesting color—hazel around the edges and grey-green around the pupils. They were very noticeable with her dark brown-black hair and light umber skin, and she was a head taller than Teddy. "Ah, I've been looking for you." Those deep-set eyes suddenly flickered over towards Teddy, and the blonde noticed the woman's smile faltering somewhat. It was obvious she liked Nick. "Hi, I'm Leslie. Who're you?"

"Teddy."

"Nice to meet you. You've known Ivy for some time, right? I've heard your name come up when I went to visit her and Michael, who's my cousin, by the way." Her voice became a nervous laugh as she kept speaking, and she shut herself up. Teddy guessed that she was a nervous talker.

"Yeah, Ivy and I have been friends for years." Teddy quickly scanned the crowd, looking for anyone she'd know so she could leave Leslie and Nick alone. "Oh!" She spotted Vitória, the friend who had helped the redhead that got the bouquet. "There's Vitória. I'm going to go say 'hi'."

Only giving a smile, Teddy left before the other two could say anything, and Teddy made a beeline for the bridesmaid Teddy had only met a few days ago when they were all trying on their dresses. She and Teddy had hit it off, even if Teddy wasn't able to follow when Vitória slipped into Portuguese. She had taken some taken some Italian in high school, though, so she and Teddy had sometimes conversed in what little Vitória knew. Teddy had increased the Brazilian-American's Italian vocabulary while, at the same time, improving her own structure and grammar.

"_Ciao!_" Teddy sang as she approached the group of three women, one of them being the redhead with the bouquet, who waved. She seemed to remember Teddy as well, though Teddy just could not place her name—odd, seeing as she had been one of the women who greeted her upon arriving at the Parks' place. The third woman looked to be Latina, though her hair had been dyed deep red, her black roots just beginning to grow in. Her dress was long and deep purple, matching her eye shadow.

Smiling, Vitória gave Teddy a tight hug. "_Ciao_, Teddy! You remember Cara. She flashed everyone—"

"I did not!" Cara argued, hazel eyes wide. "Chick ended up pulling my dress down some when we fought for the bouquet! Besides, nothing showed."

Vitória just laughed. "And this is Ximena."

"I worked with Ivy at the restaurant," said Ximena.

"She's our badass from the Bronx," Cara added with a rapper-like pose.

Ximena shot her a look. "Shut up." She looked back at Teddy. "Nice to meet you. Has Ivy been trying to get you to mingle too?" At Teddy's blank look, Ximena chuckled. "Cara was just complaining about Ivy trying to hook her up all the time."

"You wrestling the bouquet from that one girl probably didn't help much," Teddy said to Cara with a laugh.

Cara played with one of her curls. "Yeah, but I need the luck. Most of my boyfriends end up either being cheating slime or just plain jerks."

"Well, maybe if you stopped fu—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" Cara glared at Vitória, hands curled into fists as she crossed her arms. She looked back at Teddy as her eyes softened. "I've stopped dating for a while to try and get my priorities in order and re-evaluate my standards."

"But Ivy thinks she's found your perfect match," Teddy finished, nodding in understanding. "She was always trying to hook me up while we were in college."

"As much fun as it is talking about this," Ximena interjected, "I'm getting hot. Let's go outside."

"Yeah, Michael and Ivy should have sprung for a bigger tent," Vitória agreed, leading the way into the night. They went to stand by the door of the tent, and Teddy looked at the city lights. It was no wonder the city never slept—all the lights were just so beautiful.

It hadn't been until 2011 that the city began to really recover from that horrible earthquake in 2009, but it looked better than ever in Teddy's opinion—though she guessed she shouldn't really judge, seeing as this was her first time in New York.

Cara's voice brought Teddy's attention back to the other three women. "First time in New York City?"

"Yeah," Teddy answered with a smile. _How is it people can read my mind? _"I'm originally from Denver."

"I'm from Los Angeles," Cara informed. "I moved here when I started going to Columbia. I wanted to be a reporter. These guys"—She pointed at Ximena and Vitória with her thumb—"say that's just the politically correct way of saying 'blood-sucking leech'."

Teddy laughed, and her smile no longer felt strained. "I stayed in Denver for college, but I had gone to Peru for a while before starting. I had also just gotten back from being an au pair in Austria barely a month ago."

"Wow, and I've never even been out of the state," Ximena stated, clearly impressed. "Well, except maybe for an outlet mall in Jersey."

"But does that really count?" Cara quipped.

"Hey," Vitória interjected, pointing at Cara and cocking her hip in a playful threat, "no knockin' on my birth state."

For the next ten minutes, the four women conversed, and they then went inside the tent to dance. It wasn't until the songs changed to those of a slower pace Teddy and Ximena went to sit down while Vitória and Cara danced together, goofing around. Teddy had gotten her champagne flute and went to sit next to Ximena, giggling, as Cara stuck her tongue out playfully at Ivy when she did a double take upon seeing her dance (rather closely) with Vitória.

The party was wonderful, the crowd thinning as the night wore on. Ximena had spoken some, mostly just about Teddy's travels and what Ximena and Ivy had been up to at the diner. Ximena finally excused herself when it was an hour to midnight, saying that she had an early shift the next day. Teddy then sat alone, watching Ivy's parents go over to their daughter and new son-in-law, congratulating them and sharing smiles as Mrs. Wentz cried tears of happiness. It was a sight Teddy knew she would see again in late September when PJ and Jennifer get married. Teddy had questioned why they would get married at the beginning of the school year, seeing as PJ was a teacher, but PJ knew that Jennifer loved autumn and had wanted her special day to be during her favourite time of the year.

PJ would do anything for Jennifer, and Jennifer would do anything for PJ. Looking at Ivy and Michael, Teddy saw that the same thing could be said for them. Ivy was normally fairly shallow and, at times, selfish, but Michael seemed to bring the best out of her and was willing to work through her tough spots. Teddy was so happy to see her best friend in such a loving relationship, and she got up as Ivy hugged her mom. Pushing everything else to the back of her mind, Teddy went over to join in on the inescapable happiness.

**XXX**

With everyone staring at them, PJ wiped at the water now on his shirt and arms with his napkin. His lips were twisted in a grimace as he tried to dry the spots on his short-sleeve shirt. Luckily, it hadn't been a traditional, TV comedy spit-take. Otherwise, he'd be going through the rest of the morning with water and Gabe-spit on him. Since he didn't need to worry about getting to the school early for several more weeks, PJ had decided to take his brother out to breakfast. The younger man still had to go to the FBI building as an intern, but that wasn't for another hour-and-a-half. He was dressed in a nice shirt with his ID tucked in the breast pocket. It still looked odd sometimes seeing him dressed in that way, especially when PJ could still picture him as the "badass wannabe" in his eighth and ninth grades.

Instead of helping his brother, PJ just crumpled up his napkin as Gabe coughed on the water he had been trying to swallow when PJ had asked him the question he'd been waiting to ask. Apparently, the question had come at the wrong time if PJ's light grey-blue shirt was any indication. It had been a seemingly simple question: "When are you going to ask Jo to marry you?"

Unfortunately, everything that _seemed_ simple turned out to be more complicated than could be expected. This wasn't the kind of reaction of a person realizing his or her secret was no longer secret. This was more of a "Wait, _what the hell_ did you just say?" type of reaction. It got PJ wondering: had Gabe not been thinking about marrying Jo? Why not?

They _had_ been living together for more than a year.

More importantly: If it wasn't thoughts of marriage, then what was the reason for Gabe's odd behaviour?

When Jo had mentioned it, PJ had begun to realize that her observations were valid. He had been able to see the subtle signs of his mind being far away from where he actually was. His grades had dropped at the last few months of the spring term, but since it was just a single letter grade, none of them had really paid much attention to that. He still smelled of nicotine, and Jo said she caught him buying an extra pack a few times, breaking their agreement. He had a couple of bruises on his forearms from his sparring match with Jo—more than usual. It looked like Gabe hadn't really been focusing while fighting the black belt, which had really cost him. He often looked away (usually out of a window) with a far-off look in his eyes. His leg would sometimes bounce as if he were nervous about something, coupled with him biting his bottom lip or the inside of his cheek. He was even quiet for the most part of breakfast. That in itself had been a red flag.

"Excuse me?" Gabe gave one last cough as the other customers went back to their own conversations. He wiped his mouth with a clean napkin from the dispenser, and PJ noticed that Gabe's eggs were only half-finished. He hadn't even touched his toast yet. Again, it got PJ thinking. Gabe was usually a vacuum. This had to be really big if he had lost his appetite.

Trying to piece things together in his head, PJ reported, "Jo came over to my apartment last month"—Gabe gave a light groan, which PJ added into his swirling thoughts—"and said you've been acting weird for some time. I assumed you were thinking about proposing to her, but now a month's gone by and still no ring."

Running a hand through his hair (a show of guilt or anxiousness), Gabe took a deep breath. After letting it out slowly, he met PJ's eyes again. "It… It has nothing to do with Jo. Well… sorta. Kinda. But not…" He took another deep breath, not seeming to know how to put his obviously scattered thoughts into words.

"You didn't get her pregnant, did you?" PJ kept his voice low.

Like Jennifer, PJ was more traditional in certain beliefs. It had taken him a while to wrap his mind around Jo just moving in with Gabe. Plus, PJ couldn't really picture him as a father. Not yet at least.

Gabe's expression went from "Oh crap…" to "Are you kidding me?" in a fraction of a second.

"PJ…? If she was pregnant, don't you think _she'd_ know _before_ me?" He said this slowly, just like when they were kids, Gabe having to explain something to PJ's slower-working mind.

"Oh," PJ said, suddenly relieved, "Right." He probably should have figured that out on his own. Jo had said something was wrong with _Gabe_. If it had been her, she wouldn't have gone to PJ. She would have gone to her older cousin, Diane, who was like an older sister and mother-figure to her.

Getting his head back together, PJ inquired, "So what's going on then?"

The "Oh crap…" look was back, and Gabe didn't respond right away. His eyes went out the window, but it wasn't a distant look of deep thought. His eyes darted back and forth without his head moving. His hand stayed a fist under his strong chin as his elbow rested on the table separating them. It looked like he was looking for someone and trying to be inconspicuous about it (but failing). He almost looked paranoid, maybe thinking that they could have someone somewhere listening to or watching them. There were a couple of times where his bouncing leg hit the bottom of the table, and the index finger of his free hand tapped the table's surface. He was nervous about something, and it was big. Did it have something to do with his job? Did he see something he wasn't supposed to and was being threatened? Could that even happen to a simple intern?

"Are you okay?" PJ couldn't stand the thought of Gabe being in that kind of danger.

Instead of answering, Gabe just got up, grabbing his messenger bag. "I have to go to work. I'll pay you back later." He then left, and PJ kept his eyes on him until he got into his car and drove off.

_Well, crap._ PJ scratched his head before setting his fork aside.

He didn't feel hungry anymore with his stomach in a knot. In fact, he almost felt like throwing up the two flapjacks he had consumed. He regretted putting on the extra syrup and cursed his sweet tooth. It reminded PJ of Prom. Tina had been a year younger than he was and had wanted him to go with her to her Senior Prom.

PJ had hated his senior prom—too many drunk people, police having to guard the punch bowl, bad music—but he had had a good time with Tina, Emmett and Nina, Raymond and Ivy, and Spencer and Teddy. Hanging out with his little sister and her boyfriend had been a little awkward at first, but they had all enjoyed themselves, even when PJ drank that maple syrup (what? Emmett had _dared_ him to). He had gotten sick back then too, but what he felt at that moment was a different kind of sickness. It was stomach-twisting apprehension.

Thinking this all over, PJ signalled for the check. After paying and leaving a three-dollar tip, he left the diner and headed over to his car. He had to get over to Gabe's apartment and speak with Jo. Maybe she knew something. She had to have dug through Gabe's things by now, right?

_I wandered lonely as a cloud  
><em>_That floats on high o'er vales and hills,  
><em>_When all at once I saw a crowd,  
><em>_As host, of golden daffodils;  
><em>_Beside the lake, beneath the trees,  
><em>_Fluttering and dancing in the breeze._

_Continuous as the stars that shine  
><em>_And twinkle on the milky way,  
><em>_They stretched in never-ending line  
><em>_Along the margin of a bay:  
><em>_Ten thousand saw I at a glance,  
><em>_Tossing their heads in sprightly dance._

_The waves beside them danced; by they  
><em>_Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;  
><em>_A poet could not but be gay,  
><em>_In such a jocund company;  
><em>_I gazed—and gazed—but little thought  
><em>_What wealth the show to me had brought:_

_For oft, when on my couch I lie  
><em>_In vacant or in pensive mood,  
><em>_They flash upon that inward eye  
><em>_Which is the bliss of solitude;  
><em>_And then my heart with pleasure fills,  
><em>_And dances with the daffodils._

_- "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" by William Wordsworth_


	20. Only Good Word to Go On

_**Vocab: "neba" is a word used to replace "cool", though it's normally said by kids about Charlie's age and younger. Some older people use it too, but the word "cool" hasn't gone out of style; "neba" just managed to integrate itself into the slang, like "ace", which was used by Derrick (the waiter that knew Spencer) in an earlier chapter. Okay, vocab lesson over. Enjoy the chapter! **_

"_Watch out that no poisonous root of bitterness grows up to trouble you, corrupting many." - Hebrews 12:15_

It was with a sigh Teddy left the airport. She had already put her suitcase through the check, and Ivy and Michael were back at their house, getting ready for their honeymoon. They would be leaving for Fiji in a week. Teddy had decided to leave them alone, but her flight wasn't for another six hours. There was _no_ way she was going to be waiting at the gate for that long, especially since, like an idiot, she had left the book she had borrowed back in her apartment. In her purse was just the sketchbook full of letters, her notebook, some pens, and some of the emergency cash she kept hidden. Teddy did not want to try and work out the clues left in Letter 14 out where others could see, and this _was_ supposed to be one of the most exciting cities in the world after all! So Teddy just looked at her watch and decided to do some exploring before she would have to go back to the airport to catch her flight.

Walking down the sidewalk after getting out of the metro, Teddy glanced down at her watch. The sidewalks were almost as crowded as those back in Denver. More people had been moving to New York City over the years, raising its population once again—yet it still hadn't reached the multi-million population that had once filled the streets and buildings of many architectural designs. Heading down Fifth Avenue, Teddy looked up, seeing the Empire State Building. It loomed over all others, standing proud and strong. Teddy remembered learning about the Empire State Building at some point, but she only remembered that it had been considered the tallest structure in the world for a few decades (though she couldn't recall the dates).

Teddy's inch-high heels clacked against the floor as she headed towards one of the large elevators, lost with a crowd of other tourists. The hoard stepped into the lift, and Teddy watched as someone pressed the button that would order the elevator to take them to the top. The jarring movement seemed to shake Teddy's stomach, and she swallowed as her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She took out the megastorm and accepted the call before putting the mobile up to her ear, having to flip her hair back over her shoulder to do so.

"Hey, Stanley," Teddy greeted. She spoke softly, but the megastorm could pick up the softest of whispers and transmit the voice to the receiving phone and make it sound as if she were speaking normally. It was something Teddy loved, as she hated having to speak on her cell in public. She always had the worst feeling that someone may be listening in on her conversation (or on her side of it, at least). "How's everything?"

"Alright. I got a new job." Stanley sounded pretty excited, but he also sounded a bit nervous. It made sense, seeing as he had been fired from three different jobs in the past ten months. He had been a waiter until he hit a slime ball in the head with his tray, he'd been a personal assistant at _The Denver Post_ until he threw a cup of hot coffee at his boss, and he'd worked in retail until he tackled a shoplifter to the ground on Black Friday.

"Someone who hasn't heard of your temper problem?" Teddy tried to keep quiet as she laughed. "What are you doing now?"

"The guy at the restaurant was bullying that girl," Stanley explained. "My boss at the newspaper is the spawn of evil, and that last guy _was_ as thief. That's self-explanatory." It sounded like Stanley was on the bus. Teddy guessed he still had his old, beat-up phone. She also guessed he was on his way to his new job. "But I'm working at a book store this time. The one on Eighteenth Street."

"Reviving Literacy?" questioned Teddy. That book shop was the same one she had gotten _Fahrenheit 451_ as well as many others. Along with _Black Heart_, she was also reading _Little Modern World _by Antonio Fogazzaro.

"Yep, so if you need any more books, I may be able to hook you up with a discount."

The elevator arrived at the top, and Teddy got off with the others, wincing slightly as the wind whipped about her, snagging at her orange-red cardigan and straightened hair. After a couple of shivers, Teddy stepped over to the clear barrier and looked over at the city. "Wow…."

The view was _amazing_. All the people walking down the sidewalks and the cars speeding down the roads looked like frantic ants, and a layer of clouds had been smeared over the sun so that the light could not hurt Teddy's eyes.

"What's going on?" asked Stanley. "You're a book worm, but that sounded more like your 'Damn, this is beautiful' kind of 'wow'. You still in New York?"

"No," Teddy laughed sarcastically, then coughing and becoming quiet again, "I'm talking on the cell phone on the plane, and now I'm spiraling to my untimely death."

"Aw, come on. Everyone knows that's just a myth."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather not take the chance. I'm at the top of the Empire State Building. The view is _awesome_."

"Bridezilla with you?" It sounded like Stanley was now getting off of the bus.

Teddy began to walk around, looking at the views and quickly taking a couple of pictures with her phone before bringing it back to speak. "Nah, she's getting ready for her honeymoon. My plane doesn't leave for some hours, though, so I decided to take a look around."

"Have you seen the Statue of Liberty? Kyle says that she looks really weird with her new arm. It's still mostly copper-colored while the rest of her is green. I think three of the spikes on her head are copper as well, right?"

"Just two," Teddy answered. "Yeah, I went there the day after the wedding with Vitória and Cara—new friends. We also went to the rebuilt Brooklyn Bridge and the Rockefeller Center. We also went to this really nice restaurant in Little Italy. What have you been up to?"

"Just searching for a job that would last until 'Match Day' next year." Stanley gave a chuckle. Twenty-five, he had started medical school three years ago, though his major before then had been history—Teddy had met him when she delivered her essay to Professor Dawson.

"You really sure you want to be a psychiatrist with _your_ temper problem?"

"I don't have a problem with temper. People just have problems with being idiots," Stanley argued. "Anyway, I changed my mind during your first year in Austria—neba painting by the way; it's in my living room. I'm going to be a plastic surgeon. Great hours, and Freedom Care doesn't cover most plastic surgeries, so the money's going to be great."

Freedom Care came to be in 2012, despite the huge rallies against socialized healthcare. Some of the rallies had begun to quiet after a few years after the bill was passed and the economy began to get better. More and more people left and stopped listening to the conservatives hell-bent against the bill when the employment went up in 2013 and the deficit went down in 2015. Teddy had actually appreciated the bill, being a college student and knowing that she may not get great benefits with the first job she finds; however, she still kept hearing her mom's voice—Amy had been complaining about the bill for _years_.

"Darn," Teddy said with a fake sigh, "I was hoping for a moment that you had decided to be a male nurse. Carrie would want a picture of that."

"Doesn't Carrie have a boyfriend?"

"Not since yesterday. She woke me up in the middle of the night, crying. Don't ask me what she said. I was just sleep-talking." Teddy laughed and took another picture.

"Ah, I'll just bring her a cupcake after work. Speaking of which, I'm here. Bye, Teddy, and have a nice flight."

"'Kay."

Stanley hung up, and Teddy pressed the call-end button. She then went through her contacts and texted the pictures to her mom with a short message:

_Hey, Mom! Wish you could see this with me. Wedding was nice._

After looking around for fifteen minutes, Teddy went back to the elevator to return to the ground. She texted back Alice, and assured her that the next class of second graders would probably be better-behaved than the last. Not long after putting her phone back into the pocket of her jeans, the lift reached the ground floor, and Teddy stepped out as she glanced at her watch. She still had time, and Teddy wondered if she should go window-shopping or something.

Looking at some shoes through the window of a boutique, Teddy smiled, remembering the shopping trips with her friends. Sure, they'd only get the knock-offs of what was in the boutique, but it was always loads of laughs and fun nonetheless. She smiled at the memories of trying on hideous clothes in the bargain basement, just for Carrie to take a picture and threaten to put it on the internet as Allison giggled like crazy, Alice using her inhaler, and Ivy switching out clothes so that the hideous ones transformed into something actually wearable. Some of the people working at the mall in Denver knew the five girls by name, and the guy at the coffee shop had even joked a few times that he would probably be fired for serving them caffeine.

Even after Teddy got back to Denver, the shopping trips had slowed down when Ivy left for New York, and then Carrie had said that she needed to start saving money just to keep from becoming dehydrated. Just a gallon of water cost about six dollars in 2016, and it rose again to eight dollars in 2021. This was a big reason Teddy had been trying to save so much money and even keep it in a lockbox at home. She was not usually one to get paranoid (well, at least not about stuff like that), but with all the talks of a major crash coming or a major disaster on its way, Teddy had found herself beginning to hoard more and more money, still wondering how much she could trust the banks.

Down the street was a shop full of shoes, accessories, and—oh, no—purses. Teddy's weakness. Biting her bottom lip, she took a step to go in when something to her left caught the corner of her eye. Stepping away from the door and hiding behind a large, leafy plant kept outside of the shop, Teddy caught sight of the last people she'd expect to be here getting into a taxi—Sierra and _Charlie_.

_Sierra Thompson-Byrne was the one who took Charlie_? Teddy had to force the air to pass through her lungs as the two got into the cab. She screamed at herself to go after them, but her entire body was paralyzed. She dropped to her knees as the taxi drove away, tears prickling her large, brown eyes. The cab had gone down two blocks when Teddy finally stood up on shaking legs, and that was when she finally took off in a run, her mind screaming a single name: _CHARLIE!_

She dodged people, but Teddy wasn't the most coordinated, especially in heels. A large man that had refused to get out of the way scowled as Teddy bumped against his side and fell to the concrete. She pushed herself up, but the taxi was lost in the sea of yellows, blues, silvers, and blacks. Why hadn't she memorized the license plate?

Wait… She could call the police! Teddy turned around to go ask someone where the nearest precinct was when she caught sight of someone ducking into a crowd going across the street. The woman's eyes had widened, deeply bronzed skin paling as she turned and meshed into the crowd. Her light brown hair had fanned around her head as she turned, and Teddy wasted no time getting to the crosswalk. She hurried to make the light, searching for her once-friend.

They went down the street, and Teddy made every turn Scarlett made, never falling for the fakes or distractions. As she followed, Teddy was working at breakneck speed as her heart thundered, threatening to crack her ribs. She breathed through her mouth, having to force down the air. It felt like she was hyperventilating, and her head was starting to feel a little light. Soon, they came to a café with outdoor tables, and Teddy barely had a coherent thought pass through her brain as she grabbed Scarlett by the arm, just below the elbow.

By instinct, Scarlett turned to grab Teddy's other arm and whip her around to force Teddy's grip off of her. Seeing this coming, Teddy sidestepped, and went to knee her in the ribs. Scarlett, with much more experience in hand-to-hand combat than Teddy, dodged the blow and quickly pushed Teddy into a bright yellow chair at one of the empty tables and sat across from her. Neither one let go of the other, but Teddy was glad that they hadn't attracted much attention.

However, Teddy could not help but shake the feeling of wanting to scream. She felt like she _should_ get attention so that Scarlett would be _forced_ to tell her what she'd done with Charlie. Teddy's eyes began to water again. Had Scarlett lied to her this whole time? Had she just wanted to get to Charlie? Why? What did Charlie have to do with anything, and what was going on in that screwed-up brain under those wavy locks? Scarlett's straight-bridged nose wrinkled slightly as her lips pressed together. She was thinking. She usually had that look in class, her mind seeming to wander from the lecture every so often. That daydreamer was a kidnapper. She had put Teddy and her family through so much pain and acted as if she wanted to help before leaving for classes in Iceland, then Italy, then her tour through China and Japan, then her backpacking trip through Europe.

_Damn…,_ thought Teddy. How could she be so stupid! Disappearing mere months after Charlie? Sure, there was the occasional e-mail, but she never called or texted, and she never came back to visit or even hinted at ever coming back.

"Teddy…" It had seemed like forever before Scarlett had said that first word, head down to where her hair veiled her slender face.

"How could you…?" Tears now flowed freely down Teddy's cheeks. "I trusted you!" Her voice squeaked, and a couple of people looked over at them, hesitating before walking along. Teddy's nails dug into Scarlett's skin, but the brunette seemed not to notice.

Taking a few shaky breaths, Scarlett looked up slightly, her own eyes welling up. As she blinked, the tears stuck to her long lashes, only one gliding down her cheek. "I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you." Her words were soft and slow as her breath shuttered. "But you were too overcome with grief to listen to the clues I was leaving." Scarlett swallowed and took more breaths as she blinked rapidly to get rid of the second set of tears. "That's why I told Charlie to start writing you those letters."

Teddy's grip on Scarlett's arm loosened slightly out of surprise. "The… letters…?"

"They were my idea." Scarlett maneuvered her head to wipe one eye on her shoulder. She wore a loose-fitting, Bohemian Voyage tunic. "I even helped her with the clues."

"Then why did you run from me?" Teddy could breathe normally now, but she still fought to keep her voice under control. Right when Scarlett was about to answer, a waiter came up to them.

"Sorry, ladies, but you have to order something if you're going to sit here," said the young man with brown eyes.

"I'll have a white chocolate mocha," Teddy said quickly, wanting to keep this conversation going. Feeling the waiter's questioning eyes on her and Scarlett, Teddy let go of her and retracted her arms, feeling numb.

"Americano" was Scarlett's soft reply as she took back her arms as well. When the waiter with rust-colored hair left, Scarlett cleared her throat. "I was trying to make sure no one was following me—besides you. I was going to drag you into the pub four blocks down, but it seems like you've retained more of those defense lessons than I realized…" She took a breath and wiped her eyes again.

The two women were quiet for a bit, and Teddy just stared at Scarlett. "Do you know what you put me and my family through?" Her voice sounded gravelly, her throat sore. "My mom quit her job, and I heard her crying at night. Dad went into depression and got to where he barely ate for the first month and ended up having to be hospitalized. PJ almost got fired because he kept taking time off to help look for Charlie." Teddy's voice had begun to rise and shake in rage, and she stopped herself, taking deep breaths. She stared at Scarlett, seeing guilt shimmer in those hazel-green eyes. She _should_ feel guilty. In a small voice, she added, "Gabe almost lost his scholarship, and I felt so bad, I left the _country_ and only made things _worse_."

_I love you so._

_Can't you see that?_

_But you've left me alone,_

_In the dark and cold._

_You stayed away_

_When I needed you most._

That song filled Teddy's mind once again. For two years, Teddy had felt guilty about leaving them alone in such a horrible time, but the real person to blame was sitting there in front of her, fingers twitching and bottom lip quivering. Her eyes were glassy, and she swallowed before opening her mouth. She was about to speak when the waiter returned with the coffee. He offered a forced smile as he set down the cups and the bill. When he walked away, Scarlett took a sip of her Americano before trying to speak again.

"I know it won't be enough just to apologize—"

"You got that right," Teddy growled.

"But I can't tell you everything here." Scarlett took another sip, and Teddy decided to try her mocha. "We'll finish our coffee, and I'll take you to the apartment and tell you everything."

"Good." The mocha burnt her tongue, but Teddy didn't care and took another sip.

After taking a long sip, Scarlett whispered, "Just remember to leave your cell phone here. If you don't like what I have to hear, you can come back and retrieve it, but if you decide to stay, we can't risk someone tracking you by the GPS in the phone or hacking into your signal to listen to your conversations. You're going to have to give up more than you realize if you're going to come with us, but, like I said, I'll explain more about that at the apartment."

Teddy's heart sped up once more, but she wasn't sure if it was from the warning or the coffee. It didn't matter. "I'll do whatever it takes to get my baby sister back."

It looked like Teddy had chosen the lead box. She hoped the risk would be worth it.

_But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,  
><em>_That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.  
><em>_Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -  
><em>_Till I scarcely more than muttered 'Other friends have flown before -  
><em>_On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'  
><em>_Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.'  
><em>_- "The Raven" (stanza 10) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	21. Consequences in the Act Itself

"_Loyal she began, loyal she remains." - Motto of Ontario_

She still felt his kiss on her cheek even two hours after he had left for work. Amy sat in the kitchen, fingers drumming on the table top as she stared at the front door, bright blue eyes glazed over. Her face stayed in the neutral expression she was so used to wearing. The feel of a smile seemed foreign now, and the pang of guilt now felt at home in her heart, slowly pushing against the love she held for her family. Guilt was supposed to mix with love. It was supposed to be an emotion one felt because he or she felt he or she had done wrong to a loved one. Guilt was merely a reminder to set things right once more. When left unanswered, did emotion morph into a being equal to the darkness Amy had always tried to avoid? She was told to say nothing, but since when was she one to take orders?

When she was then told that the lives of her family could be at stake, that was when.

Charlie was special. Amy had known that since she was a baby. She just hadn't known how big the girl's heart was. How determined she could be. How much spirit she had. Even as a baby, Charlie rarely cried. It wasted time she could use for laughing or causing trouble. Amy gave a hallow chuckle at the memories of some of Charlie's antics as a toddler and young child. Eyes stinging, Amy covered her mouth, her lips pulled upward as if her mouth had forgotten how to frown. She looked away from the window and allowed herself to cry, praying to whoever may be listening that Charlie would be safe. That everyone would be safe. Wasn't that a mother's job? Make sure her children grew up healthy and happy? Amy knew that her family was never normal. She knew none of them had really followed the most orthodox path, always drawn more to the narrow, twisted paths hardly anyone ever wanted to follow. What difference has that made? Anxiety for both Amy and Gabe at the fear of being caught and putting everyone in danger? Depression for Bob and Teddy? Anger for PJ?

_I always told them not to give in to peer pressure_, thought Amy sullenly. _Now I think drinking at parties would be better than _this_._

Self-pity didn't work for Amy. She was supposed to be the crazy-happy and sometimes scary-angry mom with a competitive streak. She wasn't supposed to mope around, feeling like both her mind and heart were about to explode with anxiety, guilt, sadness, and hate.

The hate was for both her and those that had caused her family such grief.

Months ago, Amy had finally stopped blaming herself every morning as she watched the sun rise. She used to drive herself mad counting each sunrise she didn't see her baby girl hopping down the stairs to go into the living room and watch _Killing Waters_ before Amy could get down there and turn the TV off. Amy would scold her, saying that she was too young to watch that show. It was a crime drama that had come on in 2012 and could mostly just be caught in the morning or evening.

The young blonde had taken to crime and mystery shows and books, and she was also partial to thrillers and horrors. She had been much braver than the other three children had been at her age. Charlie had even _laughed_ while watching _Saw IV_ (stolen from Gabe's collection) with her friend, Mason. Of course, Amy had turned it off as soon as she realized what they were watching.

Amy wiped away her tears and collected herself, her eyes snapping back up to the door as three heavy knocks echoed through the house. Heart thundering, Amy took the revolver that had been sitting on the table on the viewing window. It was sitting behind the half-closed divider, set there by Amy only minutes ago.

The gun had been given to her a year and eight months ago along with a short lesson on how to use and take care of it. Touching the weapon sent the adrenaline pumping through Amy's veins. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

"It's open," she called, keeping her voice even.

Ready to get up and aim the gun, Amy stared at the door as it slowly opened. Through the crack, a large hand held up a white handkerchief, and Amy sighed as she put the gun on the table. The door then opened wider, and James stepped in, tucking the handkerchief into the pocket of his jeans. A dark grey, wide-brimmed fedora hid his curls and shadowed his square face. He took off the hat and tossed to over to the couch as he entered, closing the door. His lips curved into a small smile, but it didn't reach his chestnut brown eyes. That was no surprise to Amy. He seemed to be in just as much tumult as she. He just had a better mask and more descriptive script.

"_Buenos días, Señora Duncan_," James greeted, shaking his curls as he came forward.

"You're late." Amy's gaze fell to his sneakers. She did not bother with forcing a smile or warm greeting with him anymore.

Stopping at the small table next to the couch, James's smile faltered. He finally let it fall as he replied, "I was being followed."

With a shock shooting through her chest, Amy's widened eyes locked onto James's. "What?" Those were words Amy had grown to fear.

She always fought the urge to look over her shoulder, she had installed a house alarm a month before Charlie had left, she always checked her car before getting inside it, and she double-checked each window and door every morning and night. She'd leave small cameras in certain rooms and turn them on every day before she left for work, hooking them up to where she could check the cameras on her cell phone. Her heart would hammer whenever she felt like someone's eyes were on her, and she would sometimes wake up with a gasp, in tears, or even screaming. She did not normally remember the dreams—all she remembered were the emotions.

Always, there was anxiety.

Always, there was anger.

Always, there was fear.

Obviously seeing her panic, James quickly assured, "Don't worry, Señora Duncan. I lost them."

"Do you know who it was?"

There were never any names. Only associations. All they ever knew was that these people worked for that group Charlie wrote about: the Giltebreks. Amy couldn't stand not knowing anything. When Gabe had gotten bullied as a kid, she would just need to get out the phone book and find out the kid's address so she could speak to the parents.

She couldn't do that this time. She didn't even know _who_ was in the Giltebreks. All she knew was her role in getting information from Diacona while giving them the bits of information James told her to give. It was something Amy hated, and she had only agreed to speak to James because he said he had news she may actually like. Otherwise, she couldn't stand him. He was an overlord no better than who he claimed to be fighting against. He dragged her into this life by dangling the lives of her family in front of her. He may be in his own pain, but it seemed as if it had blinded him to the pain of those around him.

"I don't know her name," he said with a sigh, and Amy nodded, having already figured that that would be the answer. "But she was medium height, somewhat athletic build, alabaster skin, blue eyes, and red hair. I lost her in the mall and waited in a music store for a bit before heading here, taking different modes of transportation and different paths. That in itself took nearly an hour before I was sure I was okay."

"So they don't know I'm helping you?"

"They shouldn't."

No certainties. Nothing was definite. Nothing was _ever_ definite anymore. If there was anything Amy could trust James with, it was that he would do everything in his power to keep her and her loved ones safe. Only, he was just one man. He had limitations and had his own weaknesses. Just because he would do all he could to keep them safe, didn't mean they weren't in danger.

This was what Amy feared. She knew James wasn't by himself, but she didn't know who he was working with. She may not completely trust James, but he was real and within sight. The others weren't. They were as faceless as the Giltebreks and twice as cowardly. They may be the bodyguards, but Amy was the one doing the dangerous work. Sure, bodyguards had to condition themselves to be willing to dive in front a bullet to protect, but Amy did not like thinking of herself as some "package". Besides, there were other ways to get to her, and she knew that their adversaries were smart. They would know her weaknesses or know how to find them. They would use those weaknesses to get to her, and that was a kind of bullet James couldn't protect her from.

"Señora Duncan?" James asked timidly. He stayed near the couch, watching as Amy looked back up at him. "Do you mind coming out here to speak? I'd come to you, but I'm a bit wary of being in the same room as you when there's a gun within your reach."

"Trust me," said Amy with a monotone. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it a long time ago."

Her eyes did not leave his, and her face remained emotionless as she stared, letting him know, as always, of her feelings of him. From day one, Amy had made it very clear how she felt about him, only acting as though he was nice company when Teddy was around. Amy had nearly jumped for joy when she heard Teddy had dumped his ass.

Giving a nod, James went through the swinging door and took the gun off of the table. Amy only followed him with her eyes as he placed the revolver on the kitchen island, next to the cutting board. "I spoke to Lynn nearly ten days ago. She has some news you may have some interest in." James sat down across from Amy, hands clasped together on top of the table in front of him.

"Yes?" Amy was not about to let her hopes rise when there was too much of a chance of having them shot down again. Besides, there was that name again: Lynn. It was Lynn Matthews. Obviously, it wasn't her (if it _was_ a woman) real name. Amy never bothered to ask. It didn't seem to matter. She knew James would never answer her anyway. All Amy knew and needed to know was that "Lynn Matthews" was the ringleader of this parade of cowards.

"It started with Ann—"

_Oh no,_ thought Amy. _He's going to tell a story. I wish I hadn't made that vow to not drink anymore._

"—coming over to my townhouse one morning," began James, the tip of his right index finger tapping his left knuckle. "She hadn't known about the plan, but she did know about Lynn and Stacy protecting Charlie. Ann had wanted—"

Amy put up a hand to stop James in mid-sentence. "Look, I don't care about what kind of scuffles have been going on in your group of spineless wimps. Just get on with it."

If there was something Amy could actually commend the young man on was that he was smart and knew when to listen to the angry "momma bear" so as to not get maimed. This meant he took a breath, gave a nod, and did as told.

"Do you want to tell your family the truth?" James asked cautiously.

Amy's heart seemed to stop in place, and she was too shocked to remember to breathe. Her face, though, remained unreadable; the only outward sign that she had heard him was that she had stopped drumming her fingers. Her mind whirled, and she barely heard James when he continued, "Everything? I know that all of those things you've called me and the others is right on the spot. We—"

"I'll get to tell them everything?" This time, Amy felt like just breaking down into tears.

Finally, she could get rid of that guilt and replace it with the love it had been pushing away. Finally, she wouldn't have to lie anymore. She had never been taking antidepressants—they were sugar pills. She took them as part of the "charade", but she sometimes felt like taking the real thing. Not because she needed to get rid of depression—she just needed _something_ to tell the truth about. All of this lying had been tearing Amy up from the inside. It was a deep, agonizing pain that made her feel hallow in the end—then some cruel, sadistic person would click **rewind**, and she'd go through all of the pain all over again. Finally, it could end. She was singing praises in her mind, but only a trickle of her relief leaked to the surface. The muscles in her cheeks felt strained, and she brought up one hand to cover her mouth.

"And will Charlie come home?" Her voice cracked.

"Not right away," James confessed in a whisper. Amy's eyes shut tightly, and James quickly added, "Your daughter is very brave and has a big heart. I know not of yet what has been planned, but it came straight from the mind of your brilliant daughter."

Eyes cracking open, she saw James smiling. Her lips pressed together so she'd stay silent and listen.

"Lynn could not tell me over the phone what the plan is, but you need to know how dangerous it is before you make the decision to tell the others."

Unable to stay silent at that, Amy said brusquely, "Any more dangerous than what's going on right now? They're in danger _already_ but don't even _know_ it! Besides, you don't even know what her plan is either!"

Swallowing, James gave a nod. "I know, but I feel I should warn you either way. You're right, I don't know the details, but just to put things in perspective, Lynn is calling it Operation Double Suicide."

Not bothering to wipe her eyes of the gathering tears, Amy nodded slightly. "Alright, you warned me. What now?"

"I apologize." James's voice had gotten softer. "For everything. And I'll tell you more about what's going on so you're not going in blind anymore."

In her mind, Amy was smiling, but she kept her expression neutral, wanting James to keep it in his mind that she was not one to be messed with or lurched around on a leash. "It's about damn time."

**XXX**

Pulling her hair up into a high ponytail, Charlie followed Sierra into the Aguilar Library. Her last literature lesson had been reading _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_, and to help her with her language skills, Sierra had made her read the French edition. It had taken Charlie much longer to get through it, having to keep the French-English dictionary by her side as well as a book on French grammar and sentence structure. It didn't help that Sierra barely knew any words besides the "necessary" in the language. She spoke near-fluent German and even knew a number of phrases and words in Russian and Icelandic, but she was even more useless with French than with poetry. (Why did she attempt to teach literature again?) It had gotten aggravating, and Charlie was glad to be back in the United States. She loved travelling the world, but she needed to be able to come home. Just like it was with Pennsylvania and Indiana, this was probably as close as she'd ever get.

"I'll let you choose what kind of book you want to read," Sierra stated, pausing by the staircase.

She hoisted the duffel bag farther up on her shoulder, looking a bit uncomfortable. Charlie remembered once hearing that in the first three years of high school, Sierra had been sometimes been treated as a pack mule by her friends. They'd pile her up with their backpacks, and being "oh-so observant", she wouldn't even realize what was happening until they got to class. This sight of Sierra adjusting and readjusting her two bags reminded Charlie of this story, but she reminded herself not to laugh. Allowing her to read whatever book she wanted may be the only kindness she received. Sierra had been known to assign extra math problems or give surprise science essays when Charlie made fun of her.

"Do I still have to write an essay?" Charlie was on her sixth notebook. She usually only needed them for math and science, but she sometimes had to use her notebook for an essay or history test either Sierra or Scarlett would assign. She usually got the five-subject notebooks and always had to make sure to use up all the paper when writing. It was only on her laptop that she'd practice with MLA or APA format.

"It's still a lesson," Sierra responded, eyebrows raised, "but hey, I'll let you choose what language you want to read the book in." A corner of her mouth quirked upwards.

"English please." Charlie was not about to go through weeks of trying to write an essay in either French or Spanish and then having Sierra take it to someone she somewhat knows—or just a librarian—to make sure the grammar is good. If not, Charlie would have to try again.

Charlie looked away and huffed before going up the stairs to look at the shelves on the second floor. Sierra followed her, as always, and after about twenty minutes of browsing, Charlie found a book that looked interesting: _Deafening Silence_ by H. K. Lane. It looked like a psychological thriller that took place in a small town in Oregon. The review on the front of the paperback book stated, "… Kept me up well into the night…"

"Cool," said Charlie, taking the book to the nearest table. Sierra then grabbed a book from the nearby shelf before sitting down across from her and setting down her bags. "What's that?"

"_Lovely Lies _by Irene Davisson," responded Sierra, opening the hardcover book to the first chapter. On the front of the book jacket was a picture of a woman with her dark hair down around her tan, heart-shaped face as she looked out into a dark hallway holding a flashlight. "It's a Gothic romance." She caught Charlie's eyes. "What? I can't like romance?"

"Sorry, you just don't seem like the type." Charlie wasn't normally one to judge or assume about people, but after knowing people for some time, she usually had a good enough clue to be able to map out their character and what they would like or dislike. This had helped her momentously in getting gifts for friends on birthdays and such. Yet, some people still surprised her even with the smallest of things.

Sierra gave a light chuckle. "I'm blunt, not flat. Now, get to reading. I want that summary by the end of the week."

Smiling, Charlie began to read. The story swept her away almost immediately, taking her to a home surrounded by a wooded area in early spring. Time flew by as Charlie got lost in Callum's world, seeing what he saw and feeling what he felt. Before she knew it, she was a quarter-way through the five-hundred-page book when Sierra dog-eared a page of _Lovely Lies_ and placed the book onto the table. After finishing the page, Charlie looked up, finding her guardian getting to her feet. Grunting, Sierra moved her hair around so as to put on the backpack comfortably.

With a sigh, Charlie marked her place and took up Sierra's book as the woman grabbed her duffel. She wasn't sure what the sign was this time, but the apartment was safe, and it was now safe to head over there. Their apartment was in East Village, so it had been agreed that they would come to Manhattan, and then Scarlett would go to East Village and check out the apartment, stay there, and send someone. Charlie didn't know who this person was or what they did to alert Sierra, but it could be something as small as getting a certain number of assigned books or even getting onto one of the computers that were within Sierra's line of vision and going onto a certain website. Either way, Charlie now had to make sure to hide the books somewhere to make sure they would still be there when they came back. She found a shelf of older books and set their novels behind them. Once satisfied, Charlie left the library with Sierra, following closely.

After hailing a cab, Sierra opened the door for Charlie before getting in. As Charlie brought her backpack into her lap, Sierra got in and told the driver, "East Village, St. Marks Place, near Tompkins Square Park." She then buckled herself in, and Charlie followed suit.

"You got it," said the driver with his gruff voice. The cab eased into traffic, and Charlie looked over at Sierra. "What?"

"Why is it you always have to get me away when I reach the really suspenseful part?" Charlie needed to know what was going to happen. Callum had just received a tip on his wife's murder when Sierra had decided it was time to go.

Hopefully, she'd actually get to finish this one. She _still_ didn't know how Cross's _The Recovered Strain_ ended. The mutated dog had just found the heroine and her sister when it was time to leave London. Not to mention she had been forced to leave Denver _twenty-four pages_ away from the ending of _Spoiled_.

At that, Sierra laughed. "You'll get to finish it later. If not soon, then just when you find it again. You're not the only one who hasn't been able to finish the books she's been reading. I still don't know how book three of the _Cursed Enchantment_ series ends, and now _Black Heart _is out."

"_If not soon, then just when you find it again."_

It was Sierra's subtle way of saying that this craziness _was_ going to end, even if it didn't end soon, and this made Charlie smile. Sierra wasn't one to give hopeful words if she believed those words to be false.

"_I'm blunt, not flat."_

That was definitely true. Sierra had many sides, and she would say how it was and be open with her opinion no matter how much it may hurt someone. She didn't see the point in always apologizing and stepping down when she knew she was right, but she _would_ sometimes force herself to go up and "give a retraction" if she found facts to prove her wrong or if her opinions changed.

"Okay." Charlie sat back and held on tightly to her backpack, unable to keep the smile on her face.

It wasn't a promise. She knew there could be no promises in this life. Yet, it was Sierra saying that she would personally make sure Charlie found what she needed—even a _speck_ of normalcy would greatly raise her spirits. Still, Charlie hadn't forgotten her plan. Sierra and Scarlett had shown signs of beginning to agree with her, and Charlie's smile was full of pride. She was sure they'd go along with it. They've been fighting even longer than Charlie, and, now, they'd be bringing the fighting to _them_ instead of just playing by their rules.

One of those horrible facilities was near New York, and Charlie thought that being close would help her case. Her leg bounced as she thought, losing herself in them until they finally reached the park. Sierra thanked the driver and handed over some of the money she had gotten from the uzi and Remington in the black market near Victoria. She and Charlie then got out onto the sidewalk and wove through the people to reach their apartment on East Tenth Street.

"Okay, Claire," stated Sierra in her teacher voice, "when we get up there, I'm going to test you on DNA replication, cell division, how proteins are made, and genetic technology and research. After that, I'll get you started on ionic compounds."

"Great…" Charlie dragged out the word and then pouted. Looked like it was literature and biology today—with just a dash of chemistry to get her started on some harder stuff.

Though Sierra and Scarlett both tried their hardest to get as much information into Charlie's head as they could as to make up for taking her out of school, they didn't teach all the subjects in one day. They spaced things out, normally trying to make sure Charlie understood something before switching to a new subject. One day, her schooling had circled around the unit circle—Sierra had wanted her to be able to pick out the points on the unit circle without having to look at the picture. This meant knowing the sine, cosine, and tangent of two triangles' angle measurements, which had taken even more time. Another day had circled around history (more specifically, the Russian Revolution), but Charlie had kept spacing out during Scarlett's lecture.

Sierra lightly thumped Charlie on the head, giving her a knowing look. "What did I say about making me repeat my parents and old teachers?"

"Yes, ma'am," Charlie whispered as her eyes went to the floor. She heard Sierra knock three times on the door.

Within moments, the door opened a crack, and Scarlett slipped through, eyes red as if crying and lips pressed together as if nervous.

"Hey, guys…," she greeted with a strained smile and a too-happy-to-be-real voice. "How was the lesson today?"

"What's going on?" Charlie and Sierra asked in unison. Charlie's tone held a softer edge though, while Sierra's voice was tense as her feet spread out to a ready stance, hand reaching towards her holster.

Giving a humorless and forced chuckle, Scarlett looked away and swayed from her heels to toes and back. "Well… cute story, and, um… I think that y'all should know—"

Cutting through Scarlett's stuttering was a call from inside the apartment: "Charlie?"

The young blonde's heart stopped at the voice as Sierra glared at her sister in shock. Catching her jerky breath, Charlie elbowed Scarlett out of the way and barreled into the room as tears sprung from her eyes. "_Teddy_!"

_It snowed and snowed, the whole world over,  
><em>_Snow swept the world from end to end.  
><em>_A candle burned on the table;  
><em>_A candle burned._

_As during summer midges swarm  
><em>_To beat their wings against a flame  
><em>_Out in the yard the snowflakes swarmed  
><em>_To beat against the window pane_

_The blizzard sculptured on the glass  
><em>_Designs of arrows and of whorls.  
><em>_A candle burned on the table;  
><em>_A candle burned._

_Distorted shadows fell  
><em>_Upon the lighted ceiling:  
><em>_Shadows of crossed arms, of crossed legs-  
><em>_Of crossed destiny._

_Two tiny shoes fell to the floor  
><em>_And thudded.  
><em>_A candle on a nightstand shed wax tears  
><em>_Upon a dress._

_All things vanished within  
><em>_The snowy murk-white, hoary.  
><em>_A candle burned on the table;  
><em>_A candle burned._

_A corner draft fluttered the flame  
><em>_And the white fever of temptation  
><em>_Upswept its angel wings that cast  
><em>_A cruciform shadow_

_It snowed hard throughout the month  
><em>_Of February, and almost constantly  
><em>_A candle burned on the table;  
><em>_A candle burned._

_- "Winter Night" by Boris Pasternak_


	22. Forewarned is Forearmed

_**Yes, I know that we already have genetic engineering on crops, but when the Great Water Scare struck in 2018, scientists worked to make it to where our crops could still grow on even less water, using a new chemical (it was approved for use in 2019) to help with the growing process. The protests against genetic engineering on our food grew in numbers and volume, and in 2021, the FDA required that a certain number of farms still grow their crops without any genetic engineering, and those that did use it had to label their products as such. These products are much cheaper than products made from crops not engineered genetically.**_

"_Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." - Martin Luther King Jr._

That single word cut through Teddy like a sword crafted from quicksilver. She began to shiver, the chills spreading over her skin as the fourteen-year-old girl made herself visible, tears sliding over her smooth cheeks and beautiful grey-green-blue eyes shimmering with both glee and disbelief. No doubt, that same look was mirrored on Teddy's face as she stretched out her arms, eyes stinging.

Liquid fire scorched her skin that had gone cold from the shock of hearing her baby sister's voice. Charlie was only two years older from when they'd last seen one-another, but it was a large enough leap to make Teddy think they had been separated for _ten_ years.

Charlie had grown roughly four inches, had lost the baby fat in her face, and had inherited their mother's curviness. Teddy held onto the girl, now young woman, not wanting to let go. She felt a spot on her shoulder dampen from Charlie's tears, and her own tears fell at the base of Charlie's neck as Teddy clutched her closely. She did not want this moment to end. Her arms shook, and she could now only breathe from her mouth. The air came in as shallow jerks, her lungs protesting at a lack of oxygen. More pain filled her chest, but Teddy could already feel that piece in her heart begin to finally mend after those two, hellacious years.

"Teddy…," sobbed Charlie, eyes buried into the bunched-up cloth of Teddy's short-sleeved top. "I've missed you… so much."

Her voice wavered as the words shook, but Teddy could only squeak in response, her mind scrambling to remember how to create words. A vast vocabulary escaped its confines, but the words were like in a scrambled dictionary—no logic or reason for any strain. There was only emotion. Logic and reason had been cast aside for the time being, allowing Teddy to really live that moment until the door slammed shut.

An aggravated huff escaped one of the sisters as two heavy bags hit the floor. "What the hell?" It sounded like Sierra. Her voice portrayed that she was just as surprised as Teddy and Charlie, but it seemed to be more shock than disbelief, void of the happiness the Duncan sisters felt with the reunion.

It sparked a bit of anger through Teddy, and the quicksilver sword returned. However, this chill was more like the arctic wind, slicing through her unprotected form mercilessly.

Anger wasn't heat. It was cold so frozen, it only _felt_ like fire. It was just as consuming as its counterpart, but it was slow and more than capable of taking over completely if not brought to an end. Teddy had to fight to stop it, her eyes rising as the jumble of words in her head finally discovered order, allowing a path for logic to return to its rightful place. Logic helped to quell the rising ice, but it also channeled it, allowing it to be aimed at a specific place instead of going everywhere at once. Charlie seemed to notice this change in Teddy as the blonde woman slowly stood straight and placed herself in front of her sister in a protective stance. The emotions spilling from her seemed intense enough that the other two women looked away from each other and at her.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Teddy growled, voice low and tone dangerous. Scarlett flinched visibly, but Sierra kept an even face, though Teddy had seen a flash in her turquoise eyes before it had disappeared. It had been quick, but Teddy knew that she felt just as guilty as the other. She was just too weak to show it or openly admit it. To others, her stoic persona may seem like supernatural strength, but, to Teddy, it was an obvious sign of mind-boggling weakness.

"Before we begin explaining," Scarlett quickly cut in as she stepped up between Sierra and Teddy, "how about we sit down, and I'll make some tea to help soothe things over as we talk this out." She looked over at her sister. "We can splurge on the extra water, right?"

Sierra gave a stiff nod, the only outward clue of her discomfort. "Yeah, this seems like a situation calling for your peppermint tea. We still have a couple of bottles left in your backpack anyway." She looked like she was about to say more but held her tongue. It sounded like she had been about to start babbling, and Teddy nearly smirked. She wasn't as cool and collected as she tried to appear to be.

Scarlett tried to smile, but her lips refused to comply. "I'll prepare the tea. Everyone sit down in the living room."

Calling it a living room was overstating a bit, seeing as the apartment was no bigger than Teddy's. The living room connected with the small kitchen and only held a short couch, a round table low to the ground, and two—set up by Scarlett barely an hour earlier—chairs that looked like they belonged in a dining area. Still, Teddy brought Charlie with her to the couch and held her close, and Sierra went to sit in one of the chairs. They sat in silence as Scarlett scurried over to her large, black backpack and dug out a small box. She brought it over to the kitchen area, and Charlie began to get up, but Teddy's grip kept her from getting out of the couch.

"I think I should go help Scarlett with the tea…" It was phrased almost as a question, her wavering voice cautious and unsure.

"No you don't," Scarlett responded quickly. "Just stay there with them. It won't take long."

As the water ran to fill the kettle, Teddy was able to tell what Scarlett had held back: "You may be the only one able to keep those two from tearing each other limb from limb."

Charlie sat back down and leaned into Teddy's one-armed hug, though her muscles had gone stiff. It made Teddy take a breath and think about the situation carefully. She couldn't let herself go blind with her emotions. It would only lead to trouble. She needed her rational mind as well, and as it opened back up, she realized that Charlie cared about Sierra and Scarlett just as much as she cared about her siblings.

Suddenly, the letters came flooding back into Teddy's mind. Charlie had left willingly. She had known exactly what she was doing to her family and friends. She was just as much to blame as Sierra and Scarlett. It would still count as kidnapping in a court of law, as Charlie had been twelve, but those courts never took in the tiny details that could make all the difference in such a situation. Charlie was smart. She had always been smart. She had always been brave. She had always had such a big heart and looked for the silver lining no matter how dark the sky was around her. It usually bordered naïve, but Teddy had seen in that first moment with her sister that the young girl had grown much more than most could in only two years. It reminded Teddy how long that time really could be if packed with enough experience no elder could even imagine.

The naïve girl that had kept a large, dry-erase activity calendar in her room back at home and an annoying, singing stuffed horse in her closet had given up her security and schedules for danger (much of which still unknown to Teddy) and unpredictability. She had given up her drum lessons, French Club, Spanish Club, track-and-field, her friends, her family… and for what? She had given up everything that was important to her, knowing what she was doing but probably not in complete understanding of how far all of this would stretch. Scarlett had been sketchy on the details. Teddy only knew that this had to do with the Giltebreks and that Charlie had kept blogging about them, which had put her in danger with the aforementioned group. Scarlett had told her that it would be best if Charlie explained, and it was minutes after that that Sierra and Charlie had arrived.

A whistle soon shrilled, making Teddy jump slightly as she was jerked out of her thoughts. Charlie snuggled up to her and began to hum that song Teddy had written all those years ago. Despite herself, Teddy smiled, though it was only the ghost of one. That was one of the two songs she had performed in one of her video diaries for Charlie. Hearing it now quelled the emotions logic and reason had been fighting to hold back. It seemed that, sometimes, only emotion could fight emotion. Positive could be more powerful than negative, and the fire in her soul began to slowly melt away the ice that had left her with chills.

Two oriental-style teacups were placed on the round table in front of Teddy and Charlie by Scarlett with that forced smile of hers. Teddy did not return the smile, and Scarlett only nodded before getting the other two cups. She then sat down in the chair to Sierra's left, and the elder sister accepted her tea with a word of thanks. She took a sip, and Teddy allowed Charlie to reach forward for her own cup. Out of the only courtesy Teddy allowed herself to give, she drank her tea as well but ended up wrinkling her nose at the taste. Yet, it was hot and went down well. It also helped soothe her somewhat, and Teddy was just glad to have something with an actual flavor, whether it be good or bad a minor detail. The last time she had drunk anything besides water was that one small glass of Pepsi with Leonie.

The heavy emotions trickled into the air, making it hard to breathe. The three women seemed to just sit there sipping their tea, almost in a competition on who would crack first. Charlie's eyes darted from one to the other, and she finally exhaled sharply as she put the cup down on the table with a low **smack!** Her breathing had been shallow as if the air had gone toxic, and she risked a deep breath before speaking, voice clear and articulate.

"Teddy, I'm sorry." Her sister's eyes went to her, wide as if startled by the sudden sound. "I know I hurt everyone. I thought about all of you _every day_." She licked her lips, and Teddy kept her tongue as to let her speak. "But I made my choice. You can't be angry at them because of that. They didn't influence me to leave."

Teddy was about to interrupt, when Charlie stopped her and continued, "I went to _them_, Teddy. I went to them for help, and they helped me. Some months before, a man offered me money to go onto my blog and tell everyone that what I said about the Giltebreks wasn't true. Then I was supposed to delete my blog a week afterwards. I refused. That was when I knew that I would have to do something."

"So you just _left_?" Teddy had waited a few moments after Charlie had ceased speaking, her mind still processing the words as if translating a foreign language back into English. "Leaving us wondering if you were _alive or dead_?" It was at that exclamation that Teddy could no longer hold back her tears. "Why couldn't you have just stayed? If it was a matter of safety, we would have all found a way. Together. As a _family_."

Eyes on the floor, Charlie locked her fingers and rubbed one thumb with the other. "I thought about that." Her voice was soft, and a few tears began to slide down her flushed cheeks. "I didn't want to leave. I really didn't. But I didn't want you guys to be in danger just because of me. It was _my_ choice. Not yours. I'm the only one they wanted, and I knew there was no chance they'd try to use you to get to me. It'd be too much of a waste of resources when there was no guarantee of me knowing what was going on back home."

"Our safety?"

Teddy couldn't believe this. It was admirable how such a young girl was more than willing to throw herself in front of danger to protect those she loved. It showed just how large her heart was, but she was supposed to be smart as well. It sounded like she had had time to think about this, and when the time was available, she shouldn't ready herself to take the bullet. Rather, she should take out the gun so that everyone's safe, including herself. Plus, then the person she protected doesn't have to grieve for her death or feel guilty, thinking that it was his or her fault. Charlie should have thought about _that_. Two _years_ of grieving. Two _years_ of endless wondering. Two _years_ of stagnation.

Taking a shuttering breath, Teddy continued, "So you _honestly_ thought that any 'danger' that group of idiots could dish out would have been more painful than what _you_ did to us? At the very least, you could have _told_ us that you were leaving and why!"

"I couldn't," Charlie squeaked.

"Why?" Teddy demanded, her bangs falling over her eyes.

Eyes shimmering, Charlie hugged herself around the waist. Her breathing was jagged, and it seemed like she was finally allowing every ounce of held-in emotion to finally flow free. Had this poor girl ever gone to the other two women just to speak? Teddy wasn't sure how she'd be right now if she hadn't already said everything to Leonie at the restaurant. Even just having David help her decipher the letters had been a useful coping tool. Sometimes Teddy didn't realize how much she needed people around her. She needed people she could trust. She needed shoulders she could cry on. It seemed like that was a trait Charlie had gotten as well, but, unlike Teddy, she didn't have different choices of close friends. The Thompson sisters looked more like fighters than councilors. Teddy felt another tug at her heart as she thought about how many nights Charlie had probably spent crying herself to sleep. Teddy could no longer be angry. This was not a time for anger. Choices had already been made, and they could not be taken back.

"Because," Charlie whispered, trying to steady her breathing, "I knew that you all would try to talk me out of it." She took a few more deep breaths, "And that I'd listen."

After that, the two sisters were silent. Charlie shook as she cried, and Teddy finally took her into her arms again, letting her cry into her shirt. Charlie needed this release, and Teddy was more than happy to give it to her. All of this heavy emotion was poisonous. Sometimes tears were the only antidote, but they were usually only one ingredient. The other (and most important) ingredient was the love from family. Teddy was the only one there, but, as Charlie reached forward and grasped fistfuls of Teddy's shirt at the back, sobbing and shaking, Teddy knew that this was enough. She rested her cheek on the crown of Charlie's head. Her eyes were closed, but she faced the other two women in the room that waited patiently. It was only after Charlie began to calm down and allow herself to become fully engulfed into Teddy's embrace that the elder blonde opened her eyes.

Taking a breath, Scarlett set down her cup, and the (obviously) impatient Sierra stopped shaking her leg. She had long-since finished her tea and sat up straighter at Teddy's steady gaze. She crossed her legs as Scarlett crossed her ankles, and Teddy took a long, deep breath before addressing them.

"I know you're going to want to try and explain everything before I accept, so go ahead and start talking." Her voice was like a challenge. "So go ahead. Scare me."

**XXX**

The smoke slowly rose up into the evening air as if melancholy, fully conscious towards its horrible fate at being torn apart by the cruel breeze. Gabe blew out another trail of smoke moments later, the ever-shrinking stick of chemicals Gabe had never bothered learning about doing their intended job. The chemicals helped him calm down, and that was all he cared about. Nothing else seemed to work in easing his nerves. He wasn't musically gifted like his other siblings (unless an mp3 could be counted as an instrument), and he wasn't one to start talking about feelings.

When he was a kid with a problem, he used to just tell Coco, his stuffed monkey, but he had gotten rid of that state fair-born toy when he was fourteen. Well, actually, Charlie had been four and stole it (and later blamed it on Happy-Happy Horse). She had then thrown it into the road, where Mrs. Dabney had run over it while playing on her cell phone while driving. Gabe had been angry at Charlie, but he had gotten over it quickly—he had decided he was too old for Coco anyway.

Leaning forward against the wood railing on the front patio, Gabe inhaled more smoke, left foot tapping an irregular beat. He brushed his bangs to one side, a reflex even though he had almost always kept his hair short. As he exhaled smoke, he felt some of that jitteriness leave with it.

They were really going to tell them. Gabe and his mom were finally going to tell Dad and PJ. Gabe was sure PJ would have brought Jennifer if the text their mom had sent hadn't specifically said, "EMERGENCY DUNCAN MEETING 7."

The two seemed to always be together nowadays, and Gabe thought it nice to see PJ so happy at a time like this. He had met the physical therapist several times. Actually, the first time they met was after Gabe had gotten out of the hospital almost four years ago. He had shattered his left tibia and patella in a car crash, not to mention those concussions, bruised ribs, and broken left arm (in two places). After his surgery and recovery, he had had to go to "physical torture" and had been assigned Dr. Jennifer Mahajan. They talked some, and Gabe had later introduced her to PJ, who had been pretty depressed after breaking up with Princess Bitch.

Jennifer was nice, but she seemed _too_ nice for Gabe's tastes. She may have been great for PJ, but Gabe preferred his passive-aggressive, sarcastic girlfriend, Jo. She could switch from chill to rage so quickly, she was often called bipolar in high school and college. It was a trip sometimes, and Gabe found himself smiling as the thought about it, barely hearing the front door open.

"Gabriel Duncan," his mom began in an aggravated tone, "I thought you _quit_ smoking! Those things are almost twenty dollars a pack!"

"This pack only cost about eight dollars," Gabe replied calmly, not bothering to turn and meet his mom's blazing eyes. Twenty-four, and he was still scared of her. Was that normal?

Though he wasn't looking at Amy, Gabe could imagine that she had her hands on her hips. "_Excuse me_?" Before Gabe could react, she snatched away his cigarette and threw it onto the ground before stomping on it.

Gabe finally turned to look down at her. "Mom—"

"_Normal_ cigarettes can kill you. No way you're going to use ones with genetically enhanced tobacco plant!" She stuck out one hand as her other hand stayed on her hip. "Hand them over."

"Mom, I'm a grown—"

"_Now_," she growled, her face holding that look Gabe had learned to fear early in his childhood.

Rolling his eyes and exhaling sharply, Gabe reached into his pocket and placed the pack of cigarettes into his mom's hand. She shook the box, and her eyes darkened as an eyebrow rose.

"This pack's half-empty," she said in that tone bred from the look. "When'd you get it?" She said this slowly.

It brought memories back to Gabe from high school. That tone, that look, and slowly-said words all together meant a very angry Amy. The last time all these three things were mixed together, she had found Gabe sitting in his room, window open, and glitter-gloss on his lips.

"Eight days ago," Gabe whispered, breaking away from his mom's gaze.

He wasn't fifteen anymore, and Debbie Charleston hadn't just been about to take off her blouse in his room. However, that didn't mean the glare was any less effective. He knew that she was just angry at him because she was scared about telling Dad and PJ about this. Both of them had wanted for two years was to tell them, but now the very thought of their wish coming true seemed to scare them. Gabe had only been coping through smoking and playing sports with some of his friends whenever they got together. Yet, he knew that his mom's pain was worse than his. She had to lie to her husband day after day. All Gabe had to do was avoid them. He couldn't do that anymore.

Sighing, Gabe's mom went back inside, slamming the door behind her. Gabe threw his head back as he leaned against the railing, exhaling loudly. They were really going to do this. They were finally going to tell the truth.

What was that saying? The truth sets you free?

Gabe knew that wasn't true in the way people wanted. Telling the truth was a personal release from the accumulating guilt from lying. The receiver of the truth, however, would not always accept it. He or she would shun the one telling the truth, wanting to return to his or her bubble of idyllic lies.

Ignorance was bliss. The truth hurt. The truth could ruin relationships, and the longer the truth was put off, the worse the outcome.

Every second the truth is kept away, more energy is added as the drawstring gets pulled back until the bow can bend no more. That's when the arrow is finally released, but it's usually released with enough energy to kill. It sometimes does, and neither person is left the same.

Out of reflex, Gabe reached into his pocket before remembering that his mom had taken his cigarettes. "Crap," he whispered. "Those things are eight bucks a pack." He went through a pack every two weeks, thanks to that deal with Jo. Even his mom had to admit that this was progress.

Within minutes, the familiar truck with the giant bug bolted to the top of it pulled into the driveway, and a silver car pulled behind Gabe's black one. Both sons drove a Friction, but Gabe's was shared with Jo, who had helped to pay for it (luckily, she didn't use it much; otherwise they'd have something else to fight about). The eldest Duncan son got out of the car and locked it as he came up towards the house, smiling like always. Their dad made it to the porch first, and Gabe smiled at him.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey, Gabe." He gave a chuckle as they shook hands, but as he sniffed the air, the corners of his mouth turned downward. "Have you been smoking again? I thought you quit."

Smile now a bit strained, Gabe's eyes wandered to one side. "Mom threw away my pack, so I guess I have."

At this, his dad laughed, and, having heard, PJ gave an amused smile. "It's going to be hard to chase down criminals when you can barely breathe, you know."

"Ha-ha," Gabe responded sarcastically. He then turned to the door. "Guess we should go in."

"Yeah," PJ agreed. "What do you think Mom wants to talk about?"

"Can't be any worse than the marriage mishap," their dad chortled. They stepped into the house, and Gabe shut the door. His mom was washing her hands in the kitchen. When she turned around at the sound of their entrance, she turned and gave a smile.

"Did you tell Jennifer about that?" Gabe asked, looking over at his engaged brother.

Snorting a laugh, PJ shook his head. "Nah, I haven't gotten to that story yet. I told her about when I walked in on you practicing to kiss with Coco the Monkey when you were thirteen, though."

"_What_?" Gabe froze, dark eyes wide.

"Boys!" their mom exclaimed, drying her hands. Her sons nodded in understanding, and she walked into the den. "Okay, Bob, PJ, sit down on the couch." Her voice was unsure now, and she was looking at the floor, hands in the pockets of her blue scrubs.

"What about Gabe?"

Said dark-haired son looked guiltily at his father, who looked back in confusion. Gabe's eyes then drifted away as he went to stand in front of the TV with his mom, feeling small. It was worse than when he had been forced into debate club in his sophomore year, his parents hoping that it would help him straighten up. He had been on the stage, in the spotlight, expected to argue in favor for the metal detectors at school. He hadn't bothered with research for his stance, since he didn't believe in it. This—standing in front of his dad and older brother—was worse than looking like an idiot in that spotlight. He knew more facts this time, but these facts could hurt. He had the bow in his hands, and the string was taut. He had no choice but to let go and watch the arrow fly.

"We have something to say…"

Gabe decided to cut in and just get to the point. The longer they waited, the more deadly the arrow became. "We know what happened to Charlie." His eyes rose from the floor to observe the two on the couch. They were still alive, but that didn't mean the arrow hadn't caused pain. Also, there were more arrows to come. This had only been the most painful arrow.

It felt like forever before someone spoke, but Gabe couldn't say he was surprised when PJ suddenly stood up. "_What_?" His eyes were full of shock with a touch of anger. Gabe was sure that touch would start growing soon. "This better not be a joke, Gabe. This isn't funny."

"It's not a joke," Mom said quickly, most likely wanting to keep her two sons from coming to blows. "And that's not all."

"What else can there be?" Bob looked like he wasn't able to stand up. Gabe could see that he was really hurting, and he didn't need to turn towards him mom to see that she was beginning to cry.

When his mom couldn't answer, Gabe did. "The reason Charlie left—"

"_Left_?" Oh, great. _Now_ he was standing up. "My daughter would not _leave_ us without saying anything!"

"Please let me finish," Gabe said softly, which made PJ shut his mouth and tersely motioned for him to continue. "She left because of that group she talked about in her blog—the Giltebreks. They're real, and they threatened her. They first offered her money to say that everything she said was a lie and then delete her blog. She refused. That's why she left."

"You can't expect us to believe this!" PJ shouted. "That was some story—"

"It was real," Mom said in a shaky voice. "They're a real group, and everything Charlie said about them is absolutely true."

"How come the two of you know this while the rest of us were left in the dark?" PJ demanded. That spot of anger grew rapidly, and it was obvious that he was trying to calm himself down but to no avail. His fists shook at his side, and it look like he fought for just enough balance to be able to stand. Gabe could only imagine what was going on inside of his head right now. He and Dad had gotten hit, and now Gabe had to ready himself for them fighting back.

Gabe felt as if he were drinking poison as he answered, "Because there's a second group: Diacona. They consider the Giltebreks to be the enemy. They make money off of various conflicts going on in the world. Remember in twenty-nineteen when that plutonium was stolen?"

"You expect me to believe—"

"Yes," Amy cut off sharply, silencing her husband. "Diacona has people in just as many powerful places as the Giltebreks. The Giltebreks want to establish a world government as well as 'cull'"—she spat out the word as if it were something foul on her tongue—"the population. This is something Diacona doesn't want. All their money comes from the different nations going at each other, so they want the Giltebreks to fail."

"That's where Mom and I come in," Gabe continued before PJ or his dad could say anything. "Two agents at the office I'm interning at are a part of Diacona. I've been able to worm my way into the low rankings of that group, giving them certain information about the Giltebreks I've been given."

"And the CEO of our main medical suppliers is also a part of Diacona. He contacted me because he heard at his work about Charlie's blog. Like Gabe, I'm given certain information about the Giltebreks, which I give to Daniel Roach. In return, I am given information about Diacona and some protection for us. Over the two years, I've been getting increasingly more information about Diacona as Mr. Roach began to trust me. I would keep giving him information about the Giltebreks so that the two groups would still continue to fight."

"Diacona is also buying up lots of freshwater sights around the world, especially in Africa. Because the water there is on their private property, they can take it and have the rights to sell it, which they do. They sell it for even more money. Remember that case in twenty-twenty-one?" Gabe tried to slow his speeding heart, but it wasn't until PJ and his dad sat down that he began to relax. He could tell they were both very angry. It seemed the only thing keeping them there now was sheer curiosity.

"It was about the government of Rwanda being upset because almost no one could afford the water, because a lot of it was controlled by Naturelle," Bob answered, arms crossed.

Nodding, Gabe kept going, not sure if his mom could keep it together. "The three companies that have an oligopoly on water—Naturelle, Sourve, and Pieces—are overlooked by Diacona. They also sell and distribute weapons, have a tight hand on the oil still used, but their major power right now comes from water—Blue Gold." He takes a breath, and puts a hand up to signal that he's not done yet. "While Charlie tries to get people aware of what the Giltebreks are trying to do so they can fight back, Mom and I were giving certain bits of information to Diacona so they could finally have the Giltebreks torn down. Then, with all the information we have on _them_, they'd be next. Two birds with one stone."

This time, Gabe's dad stood up, face flushed. "So you both allowed my baby girl to be thrown into danger? If all of this is true, then why'd you let her go?" He was shouting, and Gabe's mom took some deep breaths as she looked up at him.

"She's my daughter too!"

"She's safe," Gabe tried.

Ignoring him, Bob kept yelling at Amy. "And you've kept _all_ of this from me for _two years_!"

"I did it to protect—"

"_Save it_!" His fists shook at his sides. "How _could_ you? You've been lying to me all this time! You're my _wife_! We're supposed to tell each other _everything_!"

He began to storm towards the door, and both Gabe and PJ called after him. Gabe couldn't believe this. He knew that the news would be hard for his dad and brother, but he hadn't realized how bad it would actually be. His dad looked ready to hit something. His _dad_ looked ready to hit something. Although tall (and intimidating when he wanted to be), he had always been more of a push-over and goof that had more than explained PJ's personality during his adolescent years. This was very bad, and Gabe as at a loss on how to fix it. Their foundation had shaken, and the walls had come crashing down. Some things just couldn't be put back the way they had been before, but that didn't seem to stop his mom as she ran after her husband, who was now out the door.

"Bob!" she called, tears streaming down her face. "BOB! _WAIT_!"

As if her words held supernatural power, Bob ceased in his departure, but he refused to turn around. Amy went up to him, and tried to reach out. Her hand stopped in the air, and she looked unsure. It was almost as if she no longer knew if she had the right to try and comfort her husband. After what seemed like hours, she finally stretched out her arm the rest of the way, but he jerked away at her touch as if her fingers were hot iron rods rather than the flesh he had caressed and held up to his own for thirty-three years. Slowly, he turned around, but his expression was so dark, Gabe momentarily wondered if he was really looking at his dad.

Amy took a step back as Bob croaked out, "Why?" His chin quivered ever so slightly. "So you can just _lie_ to me again?" It looked like he was trying his very hardest to control himself. His hands still shook, but Gabe did not worry about the possibility of his dad hurting his mom with any physical force. It did not matter _what_ she had done or _how_ he was feeling. He would never be able to bring himself to lay a hand on his wife.

"I'm telling you the truth _now_," Amy sobbed, doing nothing to wipe her eyes or nose. Her mascara was beginning to run, and the tears burned trails right through her foundation before getting to work on her skin.

Bob took a step back as if knowing how close he was coming to hitting the woman he loved. "You should have told me _before_."

"I _couldn't_." Amy hugged herself around the waist, looking as if she'd prefer getting punched or even run over than having to go through this emotional torment. Gabe wasn't sure how much more she could take, but he then found PJ's hand on his shoulder. His older brother held a look that said it'd be okay, but there was also a certain glint to his ever-blue eyes. That glint told Gabe that they weren't done talking, and Gabe could only nod at him, his index and middle finger twitching as if trying to drag a cigarette into existence.

These next words were a terrible blow to the bawling woman, who almost had to strain to hear the soft, dispirited voice: "That's never stopped you before."

The cries stopped at that, along with her heart and breathing. She could only stare, her mind processing those words as Bob turned back around and dejectedly went to the door. Gabe and PJ caught her just as she was about the collapse, and the two sons tried calling out to their father once again. But this time, he did not stop, and the echo of the door's thundering slam seemed to ripple throughout the entire house. Gabe had thought that the truth had been arrows shot at PJ and his dad with force he hadn't wanted to use. It was only as the echoes of the indifferent door subsided that Gabe realized that they hadn't been arrows, but a sharpened boomerang.

_Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,  
><em>'_Doubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is its only stock and store,  
><em>_Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster  
><em>_Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -  
><em>_Of "Never-nevermore."'_

_- "The Raven" (stanza 11) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	23. Damned Spot

"_Now comes the mystery." - final words of Henry Ward Beecher_

Nodding at Teddy's request, Scarlett took a few deep breaths, getting ready to show Teddy what could happen. This story would do nothing to calm the woman, but she had asked to be scared so she could know what she may have to expect. That was what she needed, and _Scarlett_ needed to tell this story. She hadn't been able to tell it at length to Sierra. Whenever alone, they'd always just get down to business. Now, Scarlett had her chance, and she nodded again before closing her eyes. Soon, as the words spilled out of her mouth in a steady stream, the room melted away, replaced by the cruel, Kenyan jungle:

Using Charlie's light blue scrunchie, Scarlett had her hair pulled back, revealing her sharply pointed ears. In her holster was the Beretta 92FS, and the hem of her light green tunic was lifted over the gun so that she could get it out at a moment's notice. Her jeans were tucked into her dark brown, knee-high boots, and she stepped quietly, no more than a couple of yards from the hut. She had been running the perimeter with Tatum, eyes open and mouth closed. The two would only use simple signals only known by their small group but easy to remember. The two had only passed each other once or twice, both haggard and in need of an actual night of sleep. There were few places where they had needed to do this sort of 'round-the-clock security, but Tatum had gotten one of his feelings when they had first arrived at the hut. Sierra had suggested just leaving the hut altogether and finding a different safe house, but Charlie had looked ready to collapse. The poor girl never complained, but Scarlett hadn't wanted to take the risk, her thoughts going to Fallow, her daughter, and how the little girl may end up in this very same life.

Both Sierra and Scarlett had begun to get jumpy after the days passed, so they were supposed to leave just after midnight that night. Charlie looked better, the dark circles under her eyes not so obvious against her lightly-bronzed face. The three adults took shifts, and both women were glad that Tatum had joined them in Kenya. He had been in Uganda, helping with a water crisis and to help at the few schools and hospitals, but he had assured that he could help until they moved on to their next destination, which he never asked about. As always, Tatum had known when to be quiet and which topics to stay away from. He had been Scarlett's best friend since living in Georgia, and he had actually been the one to introduce her to Ekon Ri.

Smiling despite herself, Scarlett stepped around a tree, remembering to stay vigilant. The stress was really working at her nerves, and she whipped out her gun and aimed next to some brush at a rustling too smooth and slide-sounding to be the wind. Out from the shadows stepped Tatum, hands up by his head, his dreadlocks tied back so the tips grazed the base of his neck. His face was neutral, but Scarlett could tell her movement had frightened him as much as his had her. She lowered the gun away from him, and he relaxed, his full lips staying in a straight line rather than turning up in a half-smile like they'd usually do. This worried Scarlett, and she went over to Tatum, seeing the worry flashing through his storm grey eyes.

His lips brushed over Scarlett's ear as he whispered, "I sensed three—twenty to thirty meters away. I saw them just before they split up: the Elf with an uzi is going around to the south end; the Witch with a Desert Eagle mark Seven is rounding near the creek; and the Wizard with a GM S-and-W sigma is coming from the north." His words were quick, and he took a breath before saying, "I'll get the Wizard."

With barely a nod from Scarlett, Tatum got his Heckler and Koch Mark 23 (with suppresser) and left. He wasn't even out of sight when Scarlett turned back towards the hut, gun still in her hands as she sprinted towards Sierra and Charlie. She kept her steps quiet and praised Leorensenka and His Divines for Tatum's Gift. He never called it that, but Scarlett knew he was a Gifted, given foresight by the Divines. He never got the trance-inducing visions most would think—only very strong feelings and even a few images that flashed through his mind. Yet, those "feelings" may be just what saved their lives that night.

Scarlett skidded to a stop in the entrance in the hut, gun still pointed at the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charlie jump, blue-green-grey eyes instantly widening as her face paled at the sight of her frightened guardian. She'd know that this meant someone was coming, but Scarlett had no time to speak with Charlie or try to console her. Her attention was towards the sleeping woman in the far bed, who was frowning. The elder sister's freckled, straight-bridged nose wrinkled at some images Scarlett couldn't see, and the younger of the two allowed only a breath before calling her sister's name in a low, urgent voice.

"Sierra!" she hissed, still holding the gun pointed towards the floor. Her thin eyebrows knitted together in frustration when the sleeping woman barely stirred. "Senka Divines," she breathed, teeth clenched. She breathed deeply and prayed for safety, nostrils flaring slightly as she tried to calm down. Through her teeth, she hissed her sister's name once again, slightly louder this time. "Sierra!"

"Senka—" In one, fluid motion, Sierra took up her gun and got to her feet, her dark brown corkscrews tumbling to her narrow waist. Her loose-fitting, ebony taj tunic hiding the holster strapped around her waist. There was a spark of worry in her eyes, but it soon ebbed as she fought to keep her face neutral and emotions under control—a trick Scarlett knew that she'd been perfecting since they were teenagers. "How many, how close, and what weapons?" Her words were low and quick, only a trickle of alarm dripping into her voice. Like Scarlett, there were dark circles under her eyes, but the freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks quieted them somewhat.

Standing up, Charlie looked back and forth between the two sisters as Scarlett hastily replied, "Three, Tatum said about twenty to thirty meters, and he said there's an uzi, GM S&-and-W sigma, and a Desert Eagle mark Seven." Scarlett, unable to rope in her emotions as quickly as her sister, took a breath before adding, "They must not know our exact location, due to this." She took the light blue scrunchie out of her hair and tossed it over to Charlie. She sometimes worked better with her hair down anyway. She had only accepted the scrunchie out of courtesy.

Readjusting her grip on her gun, Sierra nodded, and Charlie darted over to her bed to get the CZ 75b she had been learning how to use and take care of. The holster was already lying over her hip, hidden by her red-pink empire waist tunic. "What now?" she asked, holstering her gun and putting her hair in a low ponytail. She then slung the strap of her purple-and-black backpack over her head and adjusted it so that the pack rested comfortably over her back. Scarlett couldn't help but notice the various patches.

"Is Tatum handling them?" Sierra kept her pistol out, and Charlie took hers back out as well.

"The team split up, but Tatum's tailing the one with the sigma. I'll go after the one with the Desert Eagle. Last I heard, he was searching along the creek. The one with the uzi should be south of here." Scarlett kept the anxiety out of her voice this time, but her heart hammered wildly. She was sure the others could hear it.

"Okay." Sierra gave a nod and grabbed her duffel bag as she slung Scarlett's black backpack over her shoulders. That simple motion made Scarlett's heart hammer all the harder; she knew Sierra was taking the pack not just because it could slow Scarlett down but because she could also die. Still, she tried her best to push aside the fear as she listened to her sister.

"I'll take Charlie west. They'd expect us to go towards town." Her almond-shaped eyes fell onto Charlie. "Stay right behind me to the left. Keep your steps quiet, mouth shut, and ears open." Sierra took the silencer out of the pocket of her onyx-colored cargos. She got her pistol ready and then reached into a pocket of the duffel bag. "These guys tend to be fairly predictable when it comes to invasion, but we still need to be ready for anything." She motioned for Charlie to come closer, and the fourteen-year-old readily agreed, handing over her gun when Sierra reached for it.

"I'll see y'all when it's safe," Scarlett whispered. "I'll meet you in Mombasa, right?"

Sierra gave a nod as she screwed a suppresser onto Charlie's gun. "We'll sail to Seychelles in five days after staying away from town for three."

"Got it."

"May the Guardians be with you."

"You too."

Scarlett then turned and immediately ran towards the creek, keeping her steps quiet. She dodged shrubs to keep from brushing against the leaves, and she'd pause every so often at various noises, using the shadows of the trees for cover. Sweat beaded down her face, neck, and arms, and she prayed to the Guardians for guidance, the Divines for strength, and Leorensenka for peace. She also made sure to ask Nirabella and Terrask for courage, and Scarlett wondered briefly if they'd all actually listen to her. Her mother had taught both her and Sierra about the Immortals when they were children, but they were all sometimes hard to remember, and Scarlett hadn't cared much. Did she only care now because her life was in danger? As she crept around a tree and spotted the Witch, she decided it didn't matter as she went through the prayers once more.

The Witch looked as if he were maybe about Scarlett's height, and his black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, the tips not even making it to the base of his deeply tanned neck. He had the Desert Eagle pointed out in front of him, angled to the ground, and he was bent over the bank of the creek. He seemed to be inspecting the footprints in the mud with those "mood eyes". They were now amethyst in focus, and Scarlett wasted no time aiming her gun. She hugged the shadows and aimed for his head, right above the ear with two thin points—the shape of the ears of his race.

The next moments seemed to go by so quickly, Scarlett was scarcely sure they even happened. The Witch moved aside just when the muzzle flash went off, the bullet whizzing past a tree and splintering some wood. She immediately dove for a different location as she heard the Witch get his gun up, and Scarlett tucked and rolled, landing on her buttocks before crouching behind a tree not much more than five feet away from the mindless Giltebreks follower. Her earlier location had given her a better shot, but, having blown that, she'd have to just settle for what she had and pray that she could dodge the bullets.

Wasting no time, the Witch shot at Scarlett. She ducked behind the tree, the bullet barely missing her thigh. It then became painfully obvious that his intentions weren't to kill her—not yet anyway. His mission was to get the girl, not her guardian. He'd make sure she couldn't get away before making sure forcing answers out of her. He'd use any technique, and Scarlett knew instantly that it'd be painful.

His eyes had stayed amethyst when he dodged her bullet. They should have turned hazel in fear or even red-orange in shock. She would have even expected hazel-green-blue in tenseness. No, they stayed amethyst. He wasn't scared of her. He had no worries about dying. That went against instinct. Even some of the most well-trained soldiers would have gotten the heart-pounding effect of facing death with a bullet flying after them.

Mind moving at lightning speed, Scarlett dove to get farther back as the Witch advanced, his low brow shadowing his small eyes. His face was hard, and Scarlett guessed him to have been a part of one of the Manchurian candidate experiments. That meant he had been taken at a young age to one of the secret facilities, forced into different "sessions" night and day to condition him to kill. The experiments could not yet (to Scarlett's knowledge) make the person forget their kills, but it _could_ wipe them of any sense of empathy, sympathy, hope, or guilt. Sometimes even fear could be gotten rid of. There was only the need to kill, and they no longer held those human emotions that could hinder them in their missions. He was no better than one of the mythical Evils now, and it was all the fault of the Giltebreks. Scarlett wanted to, more than ever, see their end, but it had to start with putting this man-made monster out of his (unfelt) misery.

The heartless man took another shot, just as Scarlett stepped out from behind the tree, opposite of where the bullet had gone. It skidded against the wood, sending splinters flying.

As quickly as her muscles would allow, Scarlett held up one hand and said forcefully, "_Shield_!" She felt the tug in her chest and the dizziness in her head as a little more energy than she had intended flowed out from her fingertips and encased her in a dome of translucent magenta. The equation had been spinning through her mind, and she could see the octagons making up the dome, the sides of the shapes pressing together tightly to become one, strong object.

Seeing this, the Witch scowled but took another shot. He definitely knew that his gun had enough power to make his bullets break Scarlett's energy shield.

"Grasp," Scarlett ordered, pushing in front of her just as she saw the Witch pull the trigger. As the bullet entered, the part of the dome Scarlett touched with her pinky shot forward and caught the bullet. More sweat poured down Scarlett's face. She wasted no time to make a quick opening and shoot, but the Witch had seen this coming and dove out of the way. She decided she needed to get that gun away from him, but she couldn't waste energy on a levitation spell. Defensive magic was spending enough on her body. She could only use the energy already in the dome and switch the equation in her mind to turn it into offensive magic.

Another shot came from the Desert Eagle, and Scarlett had no time to catch this bullet. She quickly took the energy that was behind her and put in in front of her, making two walls out of the dome. They were roughly seven inches apart, and the first wall slowed the bullet while the second stopped it. That was when Scarlett made an opening in the walls and shot twice. She then shifted the equation in her head, and holstered her gun. The Witch dodged one bullet and bellowed when the second grazed his left shoulder. That gave Scarlett enough time to go into a back stance and morph the first wall into two arrow-shaped projectiles. Taking a step forward, Scarlett landed in a solid front stance and sent the first projectile flying.

It got him in the leg just before he put up a shield of his own, but he had done it without speaking. That made him spend more energy than necessary, and he faltered before standing up straight, his leg burnt, purple, black, and with some boils where the projectile had hit him. Scarlett used his loss of energy to her advantage. Without skipping a beat, she soaked in half of her wall to replenish some of her energy before adding the rest to her projectile. She then sent it flying into the Witch's dome, and magenta and lime green sparks flew before both energies went into the environment, invigorating nearby plants and sending charges through the moist air. Scarlett had been right behind her long wad of energy, her muscles complaining and stomach screaming for food. Her head pounded, but enough adrenaline pumped through her system to numb out the pain.

With one leap, she was on him, taking him at the neck in a strangle hold. From her boot, she got out her trusty knife and first severed the belt holding his holster, having to make four strikes and also cutting into his waist and hip to do it. The gun fell with a light **thud** and miraculously didn't go off as the man grunted from the new wounds as well as his heavily injured leg. Scarlett thought she heard a shot in the distance, but she was too busy to worry about that. She did not even have time to pray for her friends' safety. She only had the Witch with her, who fought to take her off. Scarlett held on, and her knife slid over his windpipe from tip to guard, slicing into his flesh nice and deep.

He gasped and threw her off, but she landed on her hip and kicked away the holster before slashing the Witch across the shin of his bad leg. He stepped back and howled in pain, voice ragged. He recovered quickly, however, and he took Scarlett by the arms before she could scramble away, forcing her to drop the knife. They were roughly the same height, and Scarlett allowed him to keep a tight hold on her wrists and even twisted them so she could clasp onto his. Her skin burned and pinched from the force, but she barely noticed as she jerked the man forward and threw her knee into his hard chest. He doubled over as his grip on her loosened, and she went to scramble for her knife.

His breathing was forced, much of the air escaping from the slit in his throat. Dark crimson trickled down his neck, and his eyes flashed black with rage.

"_Puta_," he spat. His voice sounded like that of someone struggling for enough oxygen, but enough venom dripped from it to turn the surrounding air stale.

Without a word, Scarlett used a ridgehand strike to his neck and then followed through with a palm heel strike with her other hand to his prominent nose. He was weakened, so she found no more need for her gun, which she finally remembered she had. At her attack, the Witch grabbed his face, blood running down from his nostrils and around his mouth. With no time to waste, Scarlett grabbed around his neck once again, but she couldn't remember which side held the carotid artery. Because of this, she just pressed as much force as she could to both sides of the neck, using her biceps. He tried to throw her off, so she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his trim waist.

He lumbered around at the extra weight and tried to ram her into a tree at one point, but Scarlett refused to relinquish her hold. He hit her across the head at multiple locations and scratched at her arms, making it a long ten to twelve seconds before he finally passed out. He collapsed to the side, and Scarlett retrieved her knife. She slit both sides of the neck so he'd bleed out. Unconscious, he wouldn't feel the pain, but Scarlett felt tears prick at her eyes anyway. He had left red scratches on her arms, she had a killer headache, and she was sure her left eye, arms, and other parts of her body were going to bruise, but she was alive. She still had her humanity—at least she believed so.

Looking down at the dying Witch, Scarlett saw clearly how brutal her killing was. She should have just shot at him until all her bullets ran out. Instead, she had gone after him head-on. She hadn't remembered that the gun had been strapped to her hip until she had fallen. She should have used it then.

She hadn't.

Why?

Scarlett wasn't completely sure, but it didn't matter anymore. He was still dying, if not dead already. She couldn't revive him, and, even if she could, he'd still be the monster those years in whatever hellish institution he'd been at turned him into. This was a coup de grâce. It was mercy—as much mercy as anyone could possibly give him at such a time. Bowing her head for a moment, Scarlett requested that the poor Witch's soul be spared eternal damnation for the killings he had been forced into. She asked Suronsat, Divine of Judgment, to judge him for the man he had been _before_.

When the prayer was finished, Scarlett threw some mud and broad leaves over the man. It wasn't a proper burial, but it was better than nothing. She may come back later. Tatum may be able to help her—

Tatum.

Scarlett put the knife back into the sheath hidden by her boot. Taking up the Desert Eagle mark VII, Scarlett clicked on the safety, bowed slightly to the body to wish the soul a peaceful journey before running north. She held the gun in both hands as she ran, dodging around trees and doing nothing to quiet her steps. Adrenaline had begun to subside, making her feel the pain racking through her muscles, joints, and head, but now, it surged again, acting as her natural pain killer. The only person on her mind right then was Tatum, but she had to blink rapidly. When had it begun to rain? It was hard now, and the sky had tints blue-grey peeking over the trees.

It was morning? Since when? Scarlett's time was off, but she knew that Sierra and Charlie had to be safe. That distant gunshot hadn't come from their direction.

The gun fell from Scarlett's hands as she skidded to a stop, nearly slipping in the mud. In front of her were two bodies. The one farthest away from her was the Wizard with short, dark hair and chalk-pale skin. He stared upward as if silently begging for salvation despite his final, horrendous act. The sigma was mere inches away from him, and the hand closest to it was covered in blood. Even from her distance, Scarlett could see that he had been shot just above the wrist. Four feet away from the Wizard and three feet ahead of Scarlett was the body of Tatum Conner Johansen. The shot had been just below the corner of his right eye. Scarlett saw this as she slowly walked over to him, kneeling down by his right side.

It looked like he had tried to jump out of the way, but the bullet had caught him at an angle to where it had entered his brain. Based on his position and the way the gun was still in his hands, she could safely guess that he had pulled the trigger just before dying, taking the Wizard with him. Scarlett rolled him onto his back and lay down next to him as she took away his gun. Scarlett glided her hand from his temple to his chin, smearing the bit of blood the rain hadn't completely washed away. Tatum's stubble scratched Scarlett's hand, but she barely felt it. She was completely numb. One of her best friends had been taken from her in such a cruel way. It made her tremble as she cried. Her tears were washed away by the lightening rain. After some time, Scarlett finally got up out of the mud and inspected the rest of Tatum's soaked and limp body.

Unlike Scarlett, he hadn't engaged in hand-to-hand combat in this fight, and Scarlett couldn't feel the usual static in the air, though she was sure it would have been soaked up by the environment by now if either of the two men had used magic. Tatum wasn't very cold, but Scarlett noticed that some of his dreads hung limply over the band, the roots no longer attached to his head. A bullet had grazed him. Had Scarlett heard another shot? She didn't remember, but she had been too focused with her own problem at the time. The rain had washed away much of the blood, almost as if Mother Nature had tried to clean away the cruelty of mankind.

Once her tears were spent, Scarlett took off Tatum's holster and put it on, allowing it to lay on the hip opposite of her Beretta 92FS. She holstered the Heckler and Koch Mark 23 and went to a nearby plant. She wasn't sure what it was called or even what she could classify it as, but the leaves were large and smooth. She took five of the leaves and made a few slits from the thick stem to the edge. She then weaved the strips to where the leaves couldn't come apart. She then used her bit of strength to pull Tatum onto the make-shift sled. Only his head and torso could get onto the leaf-sled, but it would have to do. She then went over to the Wizard to get the gun and extra magazine he would no longer need.

"Rot in Hell you bastard," she growled, stopping by the sigma to look at the gaunt face of the dead Wizard.

His eyes were hooded and dull green-blue. His mouth was in a perpetual scowl, and the anger that once stained his eyes had nearly ebbed into nothingness.

"Burn for eternity for all I care!" She kicked him, nothing fueling her strength except for anger and left-over adrenaline. "Wander the frozen wasteland of the Akanolatah alone!"

She kicked him again. She was about to say more, but she couldn't. Her throat had constricted as the tears burned her cheeks, and she kicked the Wizard over and over in the head. Once or twice she missed and hit his neck. The eighth time, she went too high and only hit air before falling. She just sat there and cried.

"You don't deserve a burial…" She then got up and grabbed the gun.

She thought about shooting him in the heart. It was something ancient she had heard of, but it had been done with arrows. It had been meant to pin down the person's soul to the ground. She thought about this but then decided that the gun would be worth more with a higher amount of bullets. So she clicked on the safety and placed it next to the Desert Eagle. She then began to drag Tatum towards the creek. His sign had been a water sign.

The sun was nearly at the peak of the sky when Scarlett finally reached the creek. She had needed to rest three times, and she decided to find something to eat before the burial. The mud had washed off of the Witch, and Scarlett decided to call him Fyrirgefnar. She found some mangoes and ate two before drinking some water from the creek. She knew there was a risk to not boiling it first, but everything was too wet for a fire, and she decided that she probably had a strong-enough immune system.

The mangoes weren't completely satisfying, but they were nourishment. She had set two aside to place on the graves of Tatum and Fyrirgefnar, knowing that she wouldn't be able to find apples. She also did not have the purifying candles or the sage, but she was sure that both souls would appreciate her efforts either way.

It was nightfall when Scarlett finished digging one of the graves, four feet away from the creek and between two trees. It was only about three feet deep, but Scarlett's hands were beginning to bleed. She had wanted to do the respectful six feet, but that did not seem possible. Still, three was the number of charm and enchantment, so she hoped that it would suffice.

She placed Tatum into the first grave, and she wrinkled her nose as she said the prayers, making sure that they were out loud. The bodies were beginning to stink, but she tried to ignore it as she gave her respects. Once Tatum's corpse was situated in the grave, Scarlett got on her knees and prayed to Shanta, Divine of Death, asking her to accept Tatum's soul. She then requested Tikara, Guardian of Guidance, to lead him along the Trail peacefully. She then asked Nirabella and Terrask to greet him into their world of the Immortals, as Scarlett was so sure that he had been a Gifted in life.

Once she was done praying, she pushed the dirt back over him, tears falling in with the soil. When he was fully buried, Scarlett then placed one of the mangoes onto the grave and asked Leorensenka to bless him. She looked up into night sky and knew that it was time for rest. It would take hours to dig the second grave, and she needed strength. With that decision, she took the leaf-sled she had kept out of Tatum's grave and placed it over Fyrirgefnar out of respect. She then moved further down the creek to fall asleep, using a broad leaf as a sort of blanket. She did not bother with making a shelter.

They say people can die within hours without shelter, but that was in the worst of conditions. Her natural shelter was the tree that seemed to bend over for her. She did not worry much about wild animals, but she did take out her knife just in case. She would need actual food soon, and Scarlett sighed as she sat back up. She nearby wood and placed it near her, beneath the broad leaves from which she had gotten her blanket. Even if it rained again, those sticks would stay dry. She also took a fairly large stone from near the creek and also placed it next to the twigs. She then took some dead leaves and kept them all in a little pile and curling herself around them like a shield. Only then did she fall into a light, fitful sleep.

It was hours later she awoke, finding irritating bites on her arms, neck, and legs. She looked for anything that looked serious, and upon finding none, she put the knife back into the sheath and went over to the mango tree. She had to climb this time, and she only got four down before falling. She was able to maneuver her body in a way to land on her feet before rolling over on her thigh and back. She looked at her gun and sighed in relief. The safety was on. She then ate, even swallowing the bitter peel. Many fruits held different vitamins in their soft shells, and the ones on mangoes were completely edible—though devoid of any taste. Scarlett made a face as she took another bite, feeling the rough grit of the skin as she chewed.

_Correction_, she thought, _they're devoid of _good_ taste_.

The peels were very bitter, but, at this point, Scarlett didn't really care. When she had finished the mangoes, she immediately got to work on the second grave, making it roughly four feet away from the creek, some distance from Tatum's grave. With the softer soil on top, Scarlett just used her hands, but, as she went deeper, her remaining nails bent and broke. Dots of blood marked her fingertips, but she did not take up much time to worry about her own pain. She only went over to the creek to find a large rock, preferably with a point. Unfortunately, most were smooth, but she eventually found one that was suitable. She used it, and it was not far after noon before she finished. Like the last grave, it was only three feet deep, and she requested from Fyrirgefnar's soul that he forgive her lack of resources as she dragged his body using the leaf-sled.

His body smelled rank now, but she ignored it as she repeated the procedure she had done with Tatum. When it was finished and the mango was on top of his grave, it was well into the afternoon, and she was starving. Her stomach growled loudly, demanding sustenance, and she went over to check on the supplies she had gathered the night before for fire. She found a good place near a large tree with what looked like a shaft running up one side. This was good, as the shaft could catch the smoke. It would ensure that she would be less likely to be caught by someone. Along with her backpack, Sierra and Charlie also had her passport. She was obviously a foreigner, and she would need to find them in Mombasa in four days. After that, they'd be on a ship for Victoria, Seychelles.

Scarlett hadn't realized before how much time it took to build a fire—without matches. It felt like forever before she got a spark that lasted for more than a few seconds. It was already dark before she got the fire going, and now she needed food. Meat would really help, but Scarlett had never hunted before. The idea had never appealed to her. Now, though, she'd have to if she wanted meat. Swallowing air, Scarlett got up and snuck around, knife in her hand and ready. She never wandered far from the fire, needing to make sure she could find her way back.

As she searched, she could only think about Sierra and Charlie. Thoughts of the two dead bodies were shoved to the back of her mind forcefully. She could only focus on the present and future now. That was the only way she could stay sane. If she lingered too long in memories, she would find it too hard to return back to the present, and, once she did, she'd be bombarded into something akin to a nervous breakdown. She needed to stay strong. Her mom had always told her to bring memories into the future where they belonged to escape the inevitable sorrow that came with loss. Scarlett had to take this advice and move forward.

**xxx**

"So," Scarlett said after the few minutes of silence following her story, "did I scare you?" Her voice quivered at this, and she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

This was a painful story, and Scarlett had decided not to go into how she had foraged for food but had then gotten very sick on the third day, most likely from not boiling the water before drinking it. She had vomited and had gotten diarrhea, but none of them needed to hear about that. They didn't need to hear about her chills, sweating, or nausea. They didn't need to hear about how she had needed to wait out her sickness because she wasn't sure which plants she could use to help get better or even if she would have been able to keep anything down.

They didn't need to know that Scarlett had cried herself to sleep night after night, thinking about Ekon, Fallow, and Ryan. They didn't need to know that she had been worrying nonstop about how she could be sentencing her children a life without a mother. The time now away from them was bad enough, but, if anything, it was the thought of her family that kept her fighting for her life. They didn't need to know any of that, but, seeing Sierra out of the corner of her eye, Scarlett could see that she knew. Scarlett didn't know how, but Sierra could see those horrid things without Scarlett having to say it.

All any of them needed to know was what Scarlett had just described in the span of nearly two hours. Teddy had needed to hear about Fyrirgefnar, but it wasn't the danger he had posed to Scarlett the blonde needed to hear. It was what Scarlett had done to _him_ Teddy needed to understand. She needed to know that it wasn't just that they were in danger. They sometimes had to make hard decisions, and they had to be made in nanoseconds. It could be anything from _risking_ their lives to _taking_ a life.

People lied when they said there was no choice. There was _always_ a choice. Some just had consequences that could end in a way that made it look like the other option was the _only_ one. This was true when Scarlett took the life of Fyrirgefnar. She could have left him alive, but that choice would most likely end in one of two ways: He would have died anyway due to exposure, or he would have turned around and killed Scarlett after trying to get information out of her.

After that question, it was silent again as Teddy seemed to lose herself in thought. Scarlett took back up her cup, only to see that she had already drunk all of the tea. With a small sigh, she set the cup back down, only looking up again when Teddy cleared her throat.

"I'll do anything I have to." Her words had started out hesitant but quickly grew in confidence. "But… but what was that you said about—"

Charlie seemed to smile at this and hug Teddy, silencing her. "I'm so glad you'll be here with me." There was also a sad gleam to her wide-set eyes as she hugged Teddy around the neck. Her eyes were steady and unblinking as Teddy held her back. Scarlett guessed that, though she was glad to have her sister with her, she was also worried about her. It was understandable.

"Well—"

_Senka Divines,_ thought Scarlett, _Sierra's speaking. Please don't let her make things worse!_

"—I'm glad you're joining—"

_So far, so good._

"—us. I know you're angry at me and Scarlett, but we need to be able to trust each other." Sierra kept her tone even. She seemed to at least be _trying_ to be sensitive. That was a big step for her.

Stiffly, Teddy nodded, though she did not seem ready to trust just yet. Again, understandable, but that could really hurt them if she didn't learn to trust them soon.

Trying to smile, Sierra continued, "We'll stay in New York for a few more days. Do you have supplies?"

"My suitcase is probably already in Denver," Teddy answered.

"That's alright," Sierra responded. "We should be able to get you some stuff. As you can probably see, we travel light. While we're here, spend as much time as you can with Charlie." This time, her smile was genuine. "Any piece of time you spend with family is precious, I can assure you."

At this, Teddy could not help but smile as well as she looked at Charlie. She tried to reign in her smile when she looked back at Sierra, but indifference didn't take to her as well as it did the tall brunette.

"Then what?" the elder blonde asked. Scarlett could still see her previous question in her eyes. Scarlett had mentioned the spells she had used as well as mentioning the actual races of the three men. This must have confused Teddy to no end, and Scarlett knew that this was going to get harder.

Now, Sierra looked down, and she couldn't stop smiling. At first, Scarlett was confused, but then, she smiled as well upon hearing Sierra's next words. "We need to head to Washington D.C. It's not in our plan, but we need to get you a new ID. How do you like the name Taylor Smith?"

_When to the sessions of sweet silent thought  
><em>_I summon up remembrance of things past,  
><em>_I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,  
><em>_And with old woes' new wail my dear times waste:  
><em>_Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,  
><em>_For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,  
><em>_And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,  
><em>_And moan the expense of many a vanished sight:  
><em>_Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,  
><em>_And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er  
><em>_The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,  
><em>_Which I new pay as if not paid before.  
><em>_But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,  
><em>_All losses are restored and sorrows end._

_- "Sonnet 30" by William Shakespeare_


	24. Brief Candle

_**"Harambee" means "Let us all pull together".**_

"_Harambee." - motto of Kenya_

The encounter had been a disaster to say the least. James rubbed the side of his head, where Señor Duncan had hit him. Though both were about the same height, James had to admit that the fifty-five-year-old man could be much more intimidating when he wanted to be. He also had quite a temper when it came to his family. Yet, he still hadn't gone back to his home. It had taken a few days to track him down, but, as he went to his freezer to get an ice pack for his head, James admitted that he probably should have used an extra day to plan an approach rather than just bursting into the room (Allison wasn't the only one who could pick locks) and trying to apologize and explain.

Needless to say, Bob hadn't taken the news that Teddy's ex-boyfriend had been "in on it" very well. They had gotten into a brawl, though it had mostly been dodging and blocking on James's part. The younger man had never seen Teddy's father like this. He had been a little cold to him upon their first meeting, but that was to be expected. According to Teddy, she had never stopped being his "little girl".

That fight though… That wasn't just anger. That was pure hate, created by hurt, sorrow, betrayal, and many other negative emotions that weighed heavily on a person's soul. Turning it into hate usually felt better than letting all of those emotions fester, but they always ended up with more long-term pain from the hate than if they had just tried to overcome the other emotions.

"Ah…" James slammed the freezer door shut as he pressed the bag of frozen peas to his head. "I probably deserved that."

It had been a fortnight since Amy and Gabe had given the truth to Bob and PJ. The latter had eventually accepted it, but James suspected that he only accepted it so he could try to find a way to bring Charlie and Teddy back. It had been learned two days after the truth was let out that Teddy had joined Charlie and her guardians. Amy only knew that they had been in New York City, based on the pictures she had gotten the morning James had gone to speak to her. She had shown the pictures to Gabe and PJ the day after Bob left, and PJ had immediately called Ivy. She only knew that Teddy had left for the airport. Amy had then received a call from the airport—Teddy's suitcase had been left unclaimed. It was now in the basement of the Duncan house, opened only to see if there were any clues to where she could be. Once obvious there were none, the suitcase had been left alone.

Sighing, James shoved the bag of peas back into the freezer and went over to his den. He sat back in his maroon easy chair and picked up his book, _Kingdom of Darkness_. He was about half-way through it, but he hadn't been reading much the past few weeks. He'd tried, wanting to take his mind off things, but he could never stay focused on the plot. Too many things whirled within his head. Elbow on the armrest and aching head resting on his palm, he held onto the book loosely, trying to think.

He remembered both of them. He remembered seeing how close they were. Charlie had only been twelve, but she had been smart and inquisitive. She had also been ready and determined to learn all she could. Whenever meeting James, she would insist on only speaking in Spanish so she could get better at it. She had a guileless smile and sparkling eyes. She was a ball of energy that refused to be drained, always buzzing about. She was organized and constantly worried whether she was forgetting something, especially if there was nothing for her to do.

It reminded James of Teddy, though the older sister had had a tendency to hoard things even if she didn't need them anymore. Her side of the dorm had been more "lived in" than Tasha's, and she had normally written things on her hands or on post-it notes instead of a planner or calendar. Her desk had always covered in a rainbow of notes, and she would only throw them away when there was no more room. The only problem was that she sometimes threw away a post-it she still needed in those "power-cleaning" episodes, which always resulted in her freaking out trying to figure out what it was she had forgotten.

James smirked at the memory of him giving her a monthly calendar and planner on their third date when Teddy had arrived at the restaurant late, freaking out about having "looked all over the dorm for that stupid note". The planner had been pink with pictures of kittens, but Teddy had always forgotten to look at it after writing things down. She had also tried keeping everything on her cell phone, but that hadn't worked either.

Teddy had always been scatter-brained and could sometimes be somewhat of a spaz, but those nine-and-a-half months had been nice. They had been random at times and quite stressful, but great nonetheless.

At first, he had been against the plan, not feeling right about stringing a girl along by her heartstrings. It was cruel, but, before he could stop her, Scarlett had already suggested him to Ivy, who had then immediately proceeded to hook them up. James had been about to bail on the first date, but Scarlett had convinced him to go. His job had been to get Teddy to trust him, and then he was supposed to offer to help pay for the language school in Rome she had wanted to go to and go with her.

One of the major Sourve companies was located near Rome. There, Teddy would have been told everything. It wasn't the best plan, and James had argued that she should be told right off of the bat. Scarlett had grudgingly agreed, but she said that Teddy would be less likely to go along with it. Based on her wording, James had guessed that it'd been mostly Sierra's planning. James hadn't liked going around Phoenix Vargas, and he had liked lying and manipulating even less. Still, even he had had to admit that they needed to take a bigger step against the Giltebreks. They were getting too powerful, and Milky Way Earth was already too unstable as it was.

This new plan was much better, but James wished they had thought of it before. Truth was, though, they had _all_ thought about it at one point, but fear had held them back. They hadn't all come together with a plan to get in and out using everyone's talents and staying together. It took brave words from a _fourteen-year-old girl_ and a family falling apart to finally see themselves for what they were: hypocritical cowards.

They had planned to fight fire with fire, but, instead of throwing the coals themselves, they were just sitting back and pulling strings. It was one of the three choices of life Sierra had mentioned many times in the past. They had just been hiding, forcing others to fight their battles for them. They were unknowingly _helping_ the Giltebreks! It made James scowl, self-loathing beating within his heart. He had half a mind to tear it out and throw it onto the ground, but there was only one way to get rid of self-loathing. He had openly apologized to the Duncans and had shared all he knew, answering (or trying to answer) all of their questions.

The only person left was Bob, but this wasn't going to be easy. James wasn't naïve enough to believe that the others had fully forgiven him (possibly not even Allison has fully forgiven him), but they were on their way. That was enough for now, and James sighed as he felt the weight in his chest begin to lessen. He finally threw his book onto the floor and grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter before leaving the townhouse. He slammed the door and locked it. The keys went into his pocket as his chestnut-colored eyes scanned the area. It was nearing August, so parents were taking their children to stores to look for suitable school clothes, and other kids ran around, trying to enjoy what was left of their summer. The sky was clear, and James only looked up briefly before walking towards the bus stop.

Leaning against the post, he waited and pulled out his cell from his back pocket. The wallpaper was abstract art by an artist he didn't remember. The wallpaper changed each week or so, courtesy of Allison, but James didn't really care. He looked through the album he kept forgetting to delete, simply labeled **Teddy**.

Only a quarter of the photos were ones she had posed for, wearing that goofy, high-spirited smile that made people want to smile with her. Other pictures included her with those wrinkles forming just above her brow as she tried to dedicate something to memory; a distracted look as she chewed on the eraser of her pencil or the cap of her pen, eyes glued to her notes; an embarrassed smile when she realized she had said something stupid or embarrassing; a longing look whenever she thought about far-off places; a glorious flame sparking to life behind those warm eyes when she received a text from her sister or when she got a good grade; a frazzled look when she knew she was forgetting something but couldn't remember what; and a small, loving smile as she read a wonderful poem or novel.

A half-smile played upon his lips as he reviewed the pictures, deleting each one as he went to the next. There was no need for them anymore. They were committed to memory, and that was the old Teddy. If there was one thing James knew without a doubt, it was that battle changed people. This may be more of an intellectual battle than one people traditionally thought of, but, whether mental or physical, they were all in the trenches, praying for just one more day to keep fighting—one more day to keep hoping.

**XXX**

While in New York City, Teddy had been more than willing to help Charlie with her studies. She had actually seemed surprised at first at how far her younger sister had gotten in her schooling, though she wasn't at all shocked at the fact that neither Sierra nor Scarlett had been able to help her with Spanish or French. Teddy was nowhere near fluent, but she at least had an idea about the grammar and sentence structure in those languages thanks to high school and her time in Peru.

She had decided to try speaking to Charlie in those two languages when possible, and Charlie would have to correct Teddy's grammar and reply back in whichever language Teddy had spoken to her in. Teddy was also able to help her in her history lessons, and, even now in their borrowed car driving to Washington D.C., Teddy cycled through Spanish, French, and US History. They sat in the two center seats of the 2016 CR-V, and the back seats held the three backpacks while Sierra's duffel was kept in the compartment in front of one of the seats.

It had been a game of rock-paper-scissors between the Thompson sisters to see who'd get to drive, and Scarlett had pouted when Sierra won. With a sigh, Sierra had agreed that they could switch in Elkton when they stopped for lunch. The entire trip would take about four-and-a-half hours, not including stops. Scarlett held the map in her lap. It had been in the glove compartment of the car. Both car and map had been left in the parking lot for a Japanese restaurant, and the original license plate had been replaced with a Virginia plate. The keys had been left in the plant outside their apartment in Laurelton in Queens. After a quick breakfast in a nearby café, they had left, and Teddy had been glad to set down her blue backpack and rest in the car with Charlie.

Driving down the road, Sierra thought about how Teddy had first rejected the idea of selling her Louis Vuitton over-shoulder purse (surprisingly not a knock-off), which had been given to her by a friend while in Vienna. Yet, Sierra had persisted, explaining that it would take up too much space in her backpack, and that the purse could prove liable in a fight. Teddy had finally agreed but only under the condition that she would get control of the money off of her purse. Sierra had readily agreed, about ready to make the same suggestion.

Trust between them was thin, and, though Sierra had never been patient, Scarlett had hammered into her head that first night that this would be the best time to start learning the rare trade. Scarlett had also suggested showing Teddy more and more of their own trust without being too pushy, but Sierra drew the line at even _hinting_ at their past plan with Diacona. Scarlett, at least, had agreed to this, knowing full well that neither blonde would take that news well.

The sun played peek-a-boo from behind the sighing clouds as the silver car drove down the road, and Sierra made sure to pay attention to the speed limits and road laws. Ever since getting her license, Sierra had developed a habit of speeding. It was a habit that kept Scarlett from asking for rides, but Sierra had always been sure to keep an eye out for police and state trooper cars, knowing that her luck wasn't always the best. Amazingly, she had only gotten pulled over maybe four times, and she had been able to get away with only a warning twice. Sierra smirked as she remembered the excuse she had come up with the first time.

It had been a fairly clear road that winded around some houses with spacious yards and maybe one or two small neighborhoods. Her heart had hammered in her chest upon sight of the flashing lights in her review mirror, but she had forced herself to calm down and smile as she pulled over and turned the lever for the manual window.

The officer had looked to be in his early twenties, and upon asking her about her speeding, Sierra had responded, "Well, you see, officer… Um, those speed limits are put up by the federal government. See, I'm a states' rights activist, and this… Uh, _this_ is a protest."

The officer had just laughed and let her off with a warning. Sierra had guessed he had never heard that one before.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Scarlett's voice cut through Sierra's memory as she drove, but the half-smile stayed as she gave a sidelong glance to her sister slumping in her seat, map spread out over her thighs. Her right pointer finger was close to where they were, and her left hand was resting by the destination.

"You know they stopped circulating the penny in twenty-nineteen" was Sierra's response. She remembered the aggravation from that happening, but people eventually got over it, and some people had begun hoarding all of their pennies, knowing that many of them would be worth much more as time went on.

Scarlett stuck out the tip of her tongue. She hadn't done that in years, but it was a familiar action that told Sierra she was being an annoying smartass again. "Saying 'Nickel for your thoughts?' doesn't have the same ring," she said matter-of-factly. "And what are you thinking about anyway? It's getting a little boring only listening to T and C try to speak French to each other."

"I can hear you!" Teddy looked up from Charlie's notebook, eyebrows knitted together, and Scarlett quickly mumbled an apology before Teddy went back to looking at Charlie's essay on _Le Bossu de Notre Dame_.

Ignoring the other two passengers, Sierra replied, "Just about the first time I got pulled over. Remember I was telling you about it and then you blurted it out to Mom?"

She suddenly became conscious of Teddy and Charlie both becoming quiet, and, looking briefly at the rearview mirror, she saw them looking at her. Well, Charlie's heard worse stories, and Teddy might as well get to know the two women who'd been taking care of her baby sister. They were going to have to spend a great deal of time together anyway.

"It was payback for singing 'Kiss the Girl' from _The Little Mermaid_ on stage during the homecoming dance. Jesse _refused_ to speak to me after that." Scarlett was giving her that look. It was a look Sierra was used to. It basically just said, "When you force my hand, I strike back. Hard." She then continued, "You're lucky I didn't do anything worse. Remember when I filled your pillow with peanut butter and strawberry jam?"

Sierra laughed at the image of her nine-year-old self with peanut butter and jam tangled in her curls and running down her face and shoulders. It had also stained her bed and carpet. "Yeah, nice prank. Mom made you clean it up. I also got to miss school the next day, 'cause it had taken all night just to wash my hair."

"You took my doll. I wasn't thinking clearly," Scarlett defended.

"That was for cutting the cord of my Skip-It."

"I only did that because you scared me _half-to-death_ with my 'haunted' Furby. You're lucky that was _all_ I did."

"Excuse me," piped up Charlie, "sorry to eavesdrop, but what's a Skip-It and what's a Furby?"

Teddy explained, "A Skip-It is basically a small hoop you put around your ankle. Attached are a plastic cord and a weight. You swing it around on your ankle and jump over the cord when it comes around. The weight spins and counts the rotations."

"Red and I used to have competitions with our Skip-Its when we first moved to Greenwood. We'd gotten them at a yard sale." Sierra watched Teddy and Charlie briefly in the rearview mirror and then bit her bottom lip to keep from swearing as a red Mazda cut in front of her. "We once went up to four straight hours before our mom yelled at us to come back inside. Also, a Furby is—"

"A creepy little gremlin that talks in the middle of the night and once upon a time came to Earth from the pits of the Akanolatah," Scarlett interrupted, glaring at Sierra. She then clarified, "It used to be a popular toy. It had a motion sensor so that it'd know when you passed by. It learned words as time went on, including the name you gave it if you said it enough. You had to feed it every so often by pressing down on its tongue, and it'd even burp sometimes. The things got annoying after a while, and Sierra gave me hers when we were kids because she kept forgetting to feed it, so it'd 'die'.

"The thing started to annoy me too, and I'd wake up with a start when it'd go 'Furby hungry'"—Scarlett used a creepy voice—"in the middle of the night. Eventually, I learned to take out the batteries every night, but it'd _still_ go through the same cycle, freaking me out. I then started locking it in my closet, but, in the middle of the night, I'd wake up to it talking—from my _nightstand_. The thing followed me everywhere, even to school. Yet, some people didn't seem to see the dang thing, except for Donna. It wasn't until the next month I found out Sierra had been behind it all."

Sierra laughed as she drove, taking the exit to get onto I-95 and cross into Maryland. "Best joke ever. Especially since we had watched _Child's Play 2_ a few weeks before. Scarlett and Donna had been joking on me about getting scared, so I got them back. I made Cookie follow Red everywhere, I put the batteries back in at midnight, and I even once stole Scarlett's and Donna's homework, wrote cuss words all over it, and then put the homework back, making sure they'd get detention. Then I put Cookie in the room with them. That _really_ freaked them out."

Scarlett punched Sierra in the arm, making her jerk the wheel slightly and swear under her breath as the two in the back tried not to laugh. When the car was steady again, Teddy declared, "You were horrible. PJ and I played pranks on each other but it was nothing like that." She caught Charlie's eye and knew immediately what the girl was thinking. "Me nearly knocking him out of the tree house doesn't count." She frowned slightly at Charlie's raised eyebrows. "Neither does me replacing all of his Pokémon games with my old Barbie ones when I was eight." Teddy added in a soft voice, "Why did I even say that in the diary, anyway?"

Now, Charlie laughed as Scarlett turned slightly in her seat. "Ouch. What Sierra did was bad, but harming Pokémon is just inhuman." As she said this, her glossed lips were turned up in a smirk. She seemed to be trying to get Teddy to ease out of her shell of anger and mistrust, and, though she didn't want it to, these trips down memory lane had her slowly relaxing out of those binding emotions.

"You aren't Human." Teddy surprised herself by how nonchalantly she said this, and it looked as if Scarlett, too, was momentarily surprised as well, so Teddy followed up the statement with a question. "You were a Poké-addict?"

The surprise seemed to melt back into an easy smile, and she indicated to Sierra and herself. "We both were. When we were kids, our mom used to give us Pokémon cards for finishing our chores. Different chores got us a different number of cards. Making the bed was one card, vacuuming your bedroom was three cards, washing dishes was three cards, and so on."

Instead of saying anything, Teddy just mouthed, "Wow" as Charlie spoke up again.

"Okay, I feel left out again."

"Sorry, Charlie," Sierra laughed as Teddy hugged her. "We're entering Elkton, anyway. Where do y'all wanna eat?"

**xxx**

Charlie was glad that the trip hadn't been filled with yelling and arguing as she had first feared. Although, deciding on a restaurant in Elkton _had_ been a bit of a fight, but they had finally settled on a fast food place that mostly just served chicken. If there had been one thing Sierra and Teddy had agreed on, it was that they were both craving beef but knew that it was a little too expensive for their current budget. They had only eaten for maybe a half-hour, barely speaking. It wasn't that the distrust was back at full force, which made Charlie relieved; it was just that none of them wanted anyone overhearing something they wanted to keep private. All in all, it was an alright stop, and Charlie had taken the chance to stretch her legs and back before Teddy returned her to her French and Spanish studies.

The majority of the second leg of the trip included Charlie's schooling, mostly with language. They only paused when Charlie had begun to get motion sickness from the reading, so Teddy had let her rest for an hour. They then put away the notebook and just worked on speech. It was difficult with Teddy, since she didn't know much, but it was better than her other two choices, so she worked and helped Teddy just as much as Teddy helped her.

It had been a nice activity with her sister, and it had only been interrupted once when Sierra had informed that she could tell when she was being insulted in another language. That statement had only made Charlie giggle as she remembered getting lost in the Louvre, and she smiled wider upon Teddy's own lips twitching upward. Charlie loved that her sister was beginning to relax, and she hoped that it would keep up. The first two days had been constant arguing, but it looked as if everyone had now gotten everything they needed off of their chests.

"Take a left," Sierra yawned. She held the map of D.C. in her lap, which had also been in the glove box. She was tracing a finger over a road, and Charlie looked up at the sound of Sierra's groggy-sounding voice. Once during the trip, Scarlett had hit her on the shoulder to wake up so she could navigate.

"Sea…," said Scarlett slowly as if speaking to a young child, "we're in Georgetown now. I know where we're going."

"Huh?" Sierra suddenly sat up, fully awake, her eyes going from the map to out the window and back like in a cartoon. Charlie stifled a giggle, and she could not help but smile as Sierra breathed, "We're turning on Reservoir Road…" Her eyes were wide and glassy as she stared out the window, square jaw slack. "I can't believe it." That whispered statement sounded like it had been meant to stay as a thought but had escaped through her mouth.

"We're going to park a block away from your townhouse," Scarlett announced. "Teddy, behind your seat is a box of Clorox wipes." She waited, and Charlie watched as Teddy reached behind for the orange-and-white, cylindrical box. "Good. We'll use those to wipe down the inside of the car—hard surfaces. Make sure you don't leave hairs on the seat. Especially you." She snuck a glance at Sierra who glared in response. "You shed more than Snowball did."

Ignoring Scarlett, Sierra turned her head to look at Charlie and Teddy. "One or two swipes with the wipes should be enough if you put pressure behind it, and also make sure to wipe the box."

Once the car stopped, Teddy handed out the wipes, and everyone instantly got to work. Teddy and Charlie wiped the cup holders and arm rests, while the two up front wiped down the dash, radio, steering wheel, and rearview mirror. The four also wiped the doors, and Charlie and Teddy distributed the bags. Still holding onto the wipe, Teddy undid her seat belt and opened the compartment holding Sierra's duffel. Sierra took it and picked up the various strands on the back of her seat. Everyone else did the same as they claimed their bags and exited the car. They opened the doors using the wipes like gloves, and then pocketed the wipes before gathering on the sidewalk. The routine reminded Charlie of London, Harrisburg, and Denver. She swallowed a lump in her throat, and, as if sensing her anxiety, Teddy pulled her close as they walked back towards the townhouse with the bricks that were a few shades lighter than red clay.

"This is my townhouse," Sierra informed in a low voice. It sounded like she had made her voice soft to keep it from cracking. "Mine and Seán's. Scarlett's and Ekon's townhouse is on Q Street. We came to mine because it has more rooms and is where we normally hold our operations. One of the bedrooms was converted into an office, so you and Charlie can stay in the second bedroom. Scarlett will probably go home with Ekon tonight."

"And if you hear noises, don't worry. They're not ghosts." That quip from Scarlett earned her a backhand in the gut from Sierra and a glare from Teddy. Yet, Charlie wasn't exactly sure what Scarlett was talking about.

"Shut it, Red," Sierra warned. "I'm not the one with two kids."

Okay, _now_ Charlie knew what Scarlett had been talking about, but she wished she didn't.

The four walked up the concrete steps to the front door, Sierra in front. She adjusted the green duffel bag on her shoulder before giving three, loud knocks. Charlie couldn't hear any voices from the other side, but she heard someone coming down the stairs, the footfalls loud and quick. After half a minute, the door swung open, but both men were behind the couch in the den, which was just beyond the foyer and partially obscured by a wall. Charlie immediately knew which was Ekon and which was Seán, the former holding a pistol with a suppressor while the latter held a loaded crossbow. They lowered their weapons at sight of the women, both wearing identical looks of complete shock.

"'I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously arrived, green and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.'" Sierra's words were soft but confident; they were clear and well-articulated, carried by an almost wistful air.

Immediately, Seán set down his crossbow, placing it onto the cushion of the light tan couch in front of him. He motioned for Ekon to put down the pistol, and the man with light umber skin and hazelnut-colored eyes complied, his eyes on the woman standing behind Sierra. Charlie saw as Ekon and Seán came around into the foyer as Sierra issued them in and shut the door behind them. The smile stayed on her lips, and she placed the duffel bag onto the wood floor as Scarlett dropped her backpack. They rushed over to their husbands, who took them into loving arms. Charlie and Teddy merely stayed back by the door and watched, and Charlie found herself smiling as she saw Ekon cup Scarlett's face with his large hands, his full lips meeting hers. Her arms wrapped around his trim waist, and some of his tight curls brushed over her forehead.

Charlie's eyes turned to Seán and Sierra as the six-foot-two man lovingly said, "'My bride is here... because my equal is here, and my likeness.'" His voice was deep and held an Irish-sounding accent. Charlie vaguely remembered hearing that he was from a country called Mnatt. The major accent there sounded equal to that of the Irish just like how most people from Kornan had an accent that resembled that of the American south—"Old South" as Sierra sometimes described their "elegant" accents.

"_Saranghabnida_," Ekon whispered to Scarlett when their lips parted. He then looked over towards Teddy and Charlie, his eyes much softer than before. His hands went around Scarlett's neck and down to between her shoulder blades, and he rested his chin on the crown of Scarlett's head. "_Benvenuto_. Sorry about the gun, but we need to be cautious here."

Sierra moved herself in her husband's strong arms to look over at the two by the door. "Come on in and make yourselves at home." She moved her head towards Seán. "This is our charge, Charlie, and her older sister, Teddy."

"Yes, hello," Seán greeted, nodding in acknowledgment. "You can place your bags there, and we'll come into the den." He relinquished his hold on his wife and led her around to a couch sitting opposite of the one holding the two weapons.

Lifting the strap over her shoulder, Charlie controlled the fall of her backpack as it lowered to the ground, and Teddy placed her own pack next to hers as they followed Ekon and Scarlett into the den. The man and wife went over to grab the weapons, placing them onto the oak coffee table in the center of the room. They then sat where the weapons had been, while Teddy and Charlie fell onto the final of the three matching couches. Behind them was the dining area, and Charlie turned momentarily to see the centerpiece. It looked like glass, but it was colored silver-grey and looked like a phoenix rising from the flames. On either side of it were pewter candlesticks with half-melted, white candles, contrasting with the dark blue tablecloth. Charlie turned back to look at her guardians looking calmer than they have ever looked.

"What's with the crossbow?" By Teddy's voice, Charlie knew that she was only half curious. The other part of her just didn't want to be left in awkward silence—it made her uncomfortable.

Seán's grass-green eyes flickered towards Sierra, who simply stated, "She knows."

Teddy's eyebrows were raised at that, and she met Seán's eyes as he answered, "The arrows have been charmed. The tips are silver, the shafts are cedar, and the feathers are from a cardinal. They are supposed to be able to break most energy shields."

"Most?"

Charlie liked that Teddy was asking questions. Upon first learning that magic was real and that her younger sister had actually been _learning_ it… Well, she didn't take the news well. She kept asking how it could possibly be real and why no one had discovered it before. Sierra and Scarlett had tried to explain the best that they could, but it was hard to explain a concept to someone who only wanted to look for holes in the logic—ways to throw the argument back into their faces. She never found those holes, but she tried. Charlie guessed that it had to do with all of the stress. Learning the truth about magic and the Blood War from long ago had just pushed her over the edge she had been clinging to.

"I can only think of so many equations a shield could be built upon," Seán explained, "and the more equations I try to cram in, the weaker the charm would become, so I had to settle for only putting in the three most common equations. If the shield was built upon one of these three equations, they end up cancelling each other out, and the energy is neutralized."

"Unfortunately," Scarlett added, "the charm for that one arrow isn't good anymore, so the charm would have to be repeated later to make it good again."

"Trust me, understanding all this doesn't get easier," laughed Ekon. "I knew marriage would be complicated, but I hadn't realized marrying an Elf would make my head hurt." He seemed to see Teddy's blank look. "I'm Human. I'm Nigerian, Korean, Italian, Haitian, Brazilian, Japanese, and Shoshone."

"Basically, he's the poster child for the American Melting Pot," said Sierra with a smirk.

"And he won't let us forget it," Scarlett amended. Her smile then turned sad, and she got out of Ekon's hold. "Sea, the incense and candles are in the cabinet by the fridge, right?"

Ekon stood up. "What's happened?" He followed Scarlett into the kitchen, and everyone turned around to watch. "_Miele_," he caught up with her at the kitchen's entrance, but Charlie could only see part of Ekon's back, "what happened?"

"There's white candles already on the dining table," Sierra called from the couch, her head on Seán's shoulder. Without looking at him, she asked, "Do we have Frankincense?"

Seán shook his head. "Just dragon's blood, lavender, jasmine, and sandalwood. What—"

"It's Tatum," Sierra whispered, eyes closed. Her face became completely neutral, but Charlie knew her long enough to know that she was really hurting inside. "He was in Uganda while we were in Kenya. Scarlett contacted him, and he joined us there. He was going to help us until we left the country, but…" Sierra took deep breaths to steady her voice. "Three came at night." She didn't have to say more, and a wrinkle in her brow told Charlie that she couldn't bear to anyway.

When Scarlett and Ekon exited the kitchen, Charlie saw a look of disbelief and hurt on the man's face. He helped her set up the incense, and that was when Sierra and Seán got up to join them. As Sierra took the small box of matches to light the candles and incense stick, Scarlett called over to Charlie and Teddy in a shaky voice. Ekon also brought in a large shell, the inside of it shining with colors like a prism. He set it on the table along with a thick stick of dried herbs bound by twine. He held it up to the flame of one of the white candles before setting it into the shell, next to the incense. The smoke rose, creating vague shapes in the air.

"Come on and join us." She took a breath, trying to steady herself. "I couldn't do this at the burial, but…" She waited until the candles were lit and the scent of the incense began to fill the room. "Everyone around the table, and move clockwise." It was obvious she was mainly speaking to Charlie, Teddy, and Ekon. The others seemed to know what to do. "Alright. We don't have any cates ready, but…"—she reached over to the small table behind her that was pushed against the cream-colored wall and grabbed a bottle of red wine; she also opened the drawer and took out six, small, white candles—"Here's some wine, which will be next to the centerpiece, and everyone pass down a candle… Good. Now light your candles, and we'll begin."

_But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,  
><em>_Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;  
><em>_Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking  
><em>_Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -  
><em>_What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore  
><em>_Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.'_

_- "The Raven" (stanza 12) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	25. Pray for Good and Pray for Love

**_The title of this chapter is a line from "Pray" by Tina Cousins, which I do not own whatsoever._**

_"A word to the wise isn't necessary, it is the stupid ones who need all the advice." - Bill Cosby_

"_I would much rather look back and regret what I've _done_ rather than look back and regret what I _haven't_ done."_

Those had been Charlie's exact words when explaining her plan to infiltrate one of the three main Giltebrek institutions in the United States. One dealt with certain stuff no one was sure of (though they guessed weapons of mass destruction), which was in Nevada. One dealt with weather-control, located in Alaska, and the other dealt with genetic modification and biological warfare, located on an island off the coast of New York. There were also various places where "volunteers" were taken for various psychological testing under the guise of therapy or being under the care of a psychologist. The number of people at each of these institutions was few, to stay under the radar, but there were between seventy and eighty institutions world-wide (that they currently knew about). Charlie hadn't specified on which facility she wanted to infiltrate, but Teddy didn't care. Those words from Scarlett's tale still spun mercilessly though her overloaded brain.

As she followed Sierra down the sidewalk going down M Street (near the park), Teddy thought over all of this, hardly looking around. She only looked up from her feet every few seconds to make sure that she was still following the woman two inches taller than she, whose posture seemed a little too erect. She usually walked with somewhat slumped shoulders. She didn't hunch over often, which she claimed to have come from the year in elementary school her class's counselor forced them through etiquette lessons—some of them had stuck with her unknowingly. Yet, this near-perfect posture made her seem as if a book was situated atop her head or someone was watching her closely. She held a large book in her arm, and a small, black purse hung on the opposite shoulder. A keychain from Pisa jingled from the zipper, and Teddy noticed that the metal was dented at the edges and tarnished in a few places.

Over the weeks, Teddy had caught herself observing even the tiniest of details with an overanalyzing eye. It often made her head hurt, and she'd stop as soon as she realized what she was doing. Overanalyzing wouldn't help her. She knew she had to be observant, but she couldn't just say that no one was worthy of trust. She trusted Charlie, of course, but that wouldn't always be enough. She would need to know that there were others that she could count on. She needed to know that she wouldn't have to be haunted by these memories alone—if they all _lived_ that long that is.

Yet, Teddy wasn't as fearful of death as she thought she would be. Thinking back on Scarlett's story, Teddy realized that she was more afraid of what _she_ would do and what (or who) she'd lose in this sadistic game of cat and mouse.

She knew Charlie was right. She hadn't been playing this game for long, but she had learned enough to know that they'd been on the defensive for too long. She remembered a book series she read years ago where the main character wasn't allowed to be on the offensive. She could only fight and use her powers in defense.

Teddy remembered how Georgia had been about to throw her pursuer using telekinesis, but then she had heard a voice from her goddess that told her not to do it—that she could only be on the defensive. Teddy remembered thinking that she would have just attacked anyway. It _was_ self-defense. Sometimes, people had to attack first and attack quickly to defend themselves. What really mattered was remembering where the line was—if there really _was_ a line. Sometimes, whoever was in the fight had to decide for him- or herself where that line needed to be drawn. Teddy wasn't sure yet where to draw it, but she was sure that she'd know as soon as the time arose.

Sierra looked back, and Teddy's eyes returned to the sidewalk as she weaved around people, all of them oblivious to the deep-seated struggle that would decide whether they lived or died—stayed free or became slaves. Yet, for now, they were completely free to live in their ignorant bliss, while Teddy and a group in hiding were risking their lives to keep everything from collapsing. They were gifted with the knowledge to fight, but it wasn't enough. Charlie saw that and wanted to fight harder. Teddy could see that too, but it didn't erase the fear. This was the worst kind of irony. Knowledge was supposed to be power, and it was. Only, it was this knowledge and power that was putting them in danger. It wasn't hard to see why this path was the least travelled by. Unfortunately, there were guns and death where yellow wood should be. Teddy could only pray that this path really _would_ make all the difference.

"Where are we going again?" Teddy needed to talk. She didn't want to be trapped in her thoughts anymore. They were too painful, and they made her heart thunder within her chest. She'd worry about the danger when she came. She was here for Charlie, and that was good enough for now.

They had already spoken about Charlie's plan with the other four, and Teddy, reluctantly, had done her best to persuade them. It was nearly four days of arguing and debating, but they had all finally agreed on the plan. The next day, they had gotten to work on hammering out what details were within sight, and Seán had contacted Phoenix Vargas—the current leader of Silver Wing. Everything was just about ready, and Teddy's fake ID and passport were in her front pocket. All she had to worry about was right now and what she could handle. Everything else would have to wait, lest they ignite the unstable explosives within Teddy's brain.

With no warning, Sierra turned to a small shop with a glass door and necklaces and books in the window displays. "Here," she answered simply, opening the door. She motioned for Teddy to go first, and, with no argument, she did, bumping into two people before she stumbled into the small shop with a few aisles of shelves coming up to her shoulders and protective glass cases along the back and right walls.

"'Ey! Kristjana!" Sierra called out, heading towards the back of the store. Teddy followed her, but she nearly ran into the brunette when she stopped suddenly upon seeing a man with cocoa-toned skin and cold, obsidian eyes. "Ah… you ain't Kristjana." Teddy couldn't see her face, but she guessed that Sierra was raising an eyebrow—her usual sign of surprise.

"I'm Andor," the man looking to be in mid-forties replied with a slight Norwegian-sounding accent. "Kristjana had to go to Boston to help someone. I'm a friend." He looked bored, but Teddy could see that he was somewhat guarded, his eyes going back and forth between her and Sierra in a less-than-subtle motion. She also noticed that his dark, brown-black hair was kept a little messy to cover his ears.

"You look Jutlian," Sierra noted. "My husband's travelled to some cities there. He says it's very nice. He especially loved Tårlann." Going up to stand next to her, Teddy saw that Sierra was giving one of those smiles. It was an easy-going smile that she used in those moments when she found enough patience to dig up and try and make the other person feel better. Yet, she only did the work to find that bit of patience when it could help her. That much, Teddy knew, and it didn't help her view of her whatsoever.

Andor's muscles seemed to relax, and his gaze stopped flickering towards Teddy. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail, showing her ears, and she knew that mages usually wore their hair long and down to cover their ears to hide their race, since spells were a waste of energy. Potions were the most widely used, but Teddy guessed that Andor could tell her race by the unease she emanated, looking around the shop with the wide eyes of a tourist trying to remember the information taken from whatever book he or she had gotten before the trip. Teddy had no interest in learning magic, but she still found some of these things interesting—to look at, if nothing else.

"I have family in Tårlann." Andor closed the sliding door that gave him access to the shelves behind the protective glass. "It is a tiny village that detests change and is completely cut off from the modern universe except for an internet café and those who have decided to actually get mobile phones." He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Flattery does nothing for me, so just go ahead and tell me what you want. All you had to do was tell me you were mages."

"New to here?" Sierra didn't need to tell Teddy that she shouldn't correct Andor about her race. She decided to just go look at the shelves of books to the left, allowing the temporary shopkeeper to believe what he did.

Teddy had been warned that Humans (once called Magicians) weren't supposed to know about magic or mages. It went back all the way to some major war thousands of years ago, and there were plans to tell the Humans about magic again, but it was low on the Council's to-do list. Teddy didn't want the details—her head hurt enough as it was.

Out of the corner of her eye, Teddy saw Andor nod as she took out a book on the properties of different gems and stones. Although Teddy hadn't wanted to know the details, she had been fine with knowing just enough to go through a magic store without looking completely like… well, a Human. None of them were sure how other mages would feel about Teddy or Charlie knowing about magic, as the newest laws stated only Human spouses were allowed to know the secret. They didn't need anyone to snitch on them to the Milky Way Council of Magick.

"Kristjana's father is best friends with mine. We are almost like siblings." Teddy saw Andor smile as she skimmed over the properties and uses for amethyst. "So she asked me to come and watch her store."

"Long way just to watch a store."

"Now we're getting into something personal." Andor gave a chuckle. "What is it that you want?"

The tome was set lightly onto the top of the protective glass case separating the Elf and Warlock. Teddy could hear Sierra opening the book and flipping the pages to the correct one. "My husband and I are trying out a sensitive charm. We got the room nearly ready, and we also got most of the supplies. I called about two weeks ago and placed an order—must have been before Ana left, eh?"

"Yes." Andor turned the tome and got out reading glasses from by the cash register, and Teddy placed the book she had back onto the shelf before going to look at some candles of different sizes and colors as well as an assortment of beeswax, soy wax, and various dyes. "This is an old volume, and pretty valuable as well. This must hold many experimental spells and charms most won't print in the more recent books."

"Yeah," Sierra said with an exasperated sigh. "Everyone's scared of being sued nowadays. Most of my small collection is of older texts, all passed down. The only tough part is substituting different herbs that aren't native to Earth. Anyway, I'm out of desert sage, and Kristjana said she would keep my order of frankincense, aragonite, hawk's eye, black aventurine, garnet, ash wood, cherry wood, and elder wood."

Somehow, Teddy hadn't thought that going to a magic shop would be this boring. Why had she come again? Setting down a light blue taper, Teddy informed, "I'm going to go out and walk around."

Sierra turned and replied, "Okay." However, her gaze told her not to wander too far—just in case.

"Thirsty?" asked Andor. There was a certain glint to his eyes and quirk to his smile that let Teddy know what he was really asking, and she only responded in a tight-lipped smile before leaving the shop.

_He thinks I'm a freakin' Vampire_, Teddy thought as she strode down the sidewalk and to a nearby restaurant.

It was small with outdoor tables in a fenced-in area with an entrance four feet wide. She was greeted by a teenage, peppy hostess who showed her to a seat at a circular table in the corner. The hostess smiled widely, accented by her dimples, and she spoke of the specials as she handed over the menu. She looked no more than seventeen, and her ponytail bounced about her shoulders as she walked (practically skipped) away to welcome another customer as Teddy held up the menu over her face. As she read over the appetizers, a waiter that looked only a couple of years older than the hostess came by her table, his wavy, brown-black locks veiling his eyes.

"Good morning, ma'am," he greeted with a smile. "My name is Derek, and I will be your server today. Would you like something to drink?" With a small toss of his head, some of his hair slid away from his dark brown eyes.

"Water, please."

"Coming right up." He left, the soles of his black shoes making a soft clunking sound on the cobblestone that made up the ground. Teddy shook her head slightly, thinking that those shoes could _not_ be comfortable.

It was pleasing to see that the sections were different countries. Her eyes immediately went to Greece, but she decided to get the least expensive item from the menu—a vegetarian quesadilla. Teddy set down the menu and crossed her legs. She started to tap her foot, listening to the different voices around her. Teddy had her back to the corner, which she liked, as it allowed her to keep everyone within sight. Only about a quarter of the other outdoor tables were full, and Teddy's eyes were drawn to a table near the center. There was only one person seated at the table, and his back was to her. His dark hair was cut short, and he wore navy and beige clothing in business casual, making Teddy think of a prep school. It was that style that made Teddy really think it was him, and when he turned to thank his waitress for the check, she knew for sure it was.

Her voice rose into the air before she could stop it. "Spencer?"

**XXX**

"Well, if you think what _he_ did was painful—"

"You're the one who always told me to move on and not linger in bad memories," James interrupted, wanting to stop Allison's anger-fueled threat. "Why does it sound like you're trying to make me hate myself?"

Giving a "Humph," Allison stalked over towards the shelf holding sci-fi novels. She muttered something under her breath, and James merely shook his head as he looked over the biography of Henry David Thoreau. It was in the shelf of used books, and there were certain words and phrases highlighted for a code only a few people would understand. This book had been put here by another Wing to let James and Allison know about other happenings. Some other Wings were afraid that some of the codes were too easy, but the current and last two Phoenixes (as well as nearly all of the members of the Twelve) argued that these codes were safer than ones that would need too much time to decode, which would give those working for the Giltebreks time to find the messages.

"Hey, Alli," said a man with deeply-tanned skin and the same black shirt as the other employees with the store's name in white, block letters: **Reviving Literacy**. "Don't you normally just borrow books from Carrie or Teddy?"

At the mention of Teddy, James looked up and looked over the man, who was nearly a foot taller than Allison and with hair stylishly spiked. It was several shades of dark brown, and James guessed him to be of Native American decent. He seemed to know Allison pretty well, especially by the way the feisty Asian smiled as she put the book back.

"Teddy's still in New York, and Carrie's still mad about me losing _From His Eyes_ two months ago." Allison gave a chuckle. "Can that girl hold a grudge or what?"

"Well, there's a reason she shares a name with a character from a Stephen King novel," the man laughed.

Setting the book back, James walked over by the man, giving a nod in greeting before saying to Allison, "Why is it you always walk away when I say something you don't like?" She had done the same thing when James had told her he was actually a Witch, but at least she didn't throw a lit candle at his head this time. (Needless to say, Allison wasn't trusted to be near fire anymore.)

Allison merely shrugged, expression bored as if she hadn't been angry just a minute ago. "'Cause I need time to think of a comeback."

"Hey, I'm Stanley," said the man, looking like he was trying to ease the tension. He stuck out his hand, which James took in a firm grip.

"James."

Tucking a lock of her hair behind one ear, Allison added, "James is my _anh trai lớn_."

"Anh-what?" questioned Stanley, caramel eyes lit with confusion.

Eyes on Allison, James explained, "It means 'big brother'. We've known each other for years. I practically adopted her as my _hermana menor_."

"Okay, Spanish I know. Well, sort of," Stanley chuckled. "Well, let me know if either of you need help with anything. I should get back to work." He gave a casual, two-fingered salute before heading off towards the front.

"Don't get fired!" Allison called after him.

"Very funny!" Stanley called back sarcastically.

For a moment, James watched as he left before he turned his eyes back onto Allison. "So, what's your big comeback?"

Huffing, Allison took out another book and read the summary on the back. "No big comeback. I just wanted to tell you that I'm still mad, but that doesn't mean I want you to hate yourself. That's not what I was going to say." She sighed and opened the book to look over the first page. "If the past hurts too much, either find a way it can help shape the future for the better or let it go. You're only hurting things if you keep digging a deeper hole in self-pity—"

"Is there a point in your sapient speech?" James asked. Allison used to only put up witty statements or "wise words for the mind and soul" as her statuses on Facebook during high school, so he had already heard most of her lectures and rants already.

Looking up from the book, Allison glared at him. It lasted for nearly a minute before she looked back at the book. "By asking if I'm trying to make you hate yourself, you make it obvious that you feel bad. I suggest using that to _do_ something about this."

"Like what?" James already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from her first. He never wandered through self-pity or other negative emotions for long. He never saw the point, and, even if she was annoying, Allison was right. He had to look forward and do what needed to be done. The past couldn't be changed, but, if he worked hard enough, he could use it to shape his future.

The book slammed shut, and Allison slammed it back into the shelf. Obvious questions had always annoyed her. "You already know the answer, so just get the hell out of here!" Somehow, she managed to control her voice as to not attract too much attention.

That was probably the closest James would get to a blessing, so he just responded, "Since you're wearing spiked heels, and since I'm not wearing a cup, okay." He turned and stated slowly, "_Adiós, hermana menor. Mira el libro de nuevo. Hay nueva información sobre una de las instalaciones_."

He began to walk towards the exit and gave another nod to Stanley. After pushing past the glass door and out into the late summer sun, James glanced briefly back into the store, seeing Allison stroll back towards the used books. Lips forming a tight, straight line, he went towards the bus stop, the message swimming through his mind. His heart raced, and he knew that he would have to contact a few people to help him. One thing James had learned over the years was that he couldn't do everything by himself. Going at it alone didn't make him a hero; it made him stupid. From his pocket, James pulled out some change, and he went to the nearest payphone. It took him a while to remember the area code, but, once it came to him, he punched in the numbers before they could swim back up into his conscious mind.

As it rang, James took a breath, trying to get his thoughts in order. This had to work. Operation Double Suicide was supposed to help them. Sierra said Phoenix Vargas had reluctantly agreed to this plan, and, as far as any of them knew, he was completely clueless about their earlier plan. This was bigger than any of them, and there was a deadline they were trying to find on a blank calendar. Two Earths were already under a global government. Along with this one, Earth in the Dragon Dust galaxy was also under the stress of demanded immediate change. James couldn't help but think that if people would just learn that good change had to come on its own time, they wouldn't end up writing their own obituaries.

"Hello?" The owner of the tenor voice sounded like he had just rolled out of bed. Well, out of his sleeping bag on the floor, anyway. Immanuil hated beds, always saying that they were all too soft and kept him from sleeping.

"_Hola_, Evan," greeted James, trying to smile.

"Mitchell?" It sounded like he was yawning. His tone sounded terse as he demanded, "What?"

Yeah, the Vampire wasn't exactly the kindest person right after waking up, and it always got worse the longer he neglected his thirst.

After taking another breath, James simply said, "City of Roses of the Union. Five days."

_Some say the world will end in fire,  
><em>_Some say in ice.  
><em>_From what I've tasted of desire  
><em>_I hold with those who favor fire.  
><em>_But if it had to perish twice,  
><em>_I think I know enough of hate  
><em>_To say that destruction ice  
><em>_Is also great  
><em>_And would suffice._

_- "Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost_


	26. Protesting Too Much

"_What each man feels in his heart, I can only guess." - Robert Falcon Scott_

The scent of desert sage tickled Charlie's nose as she held out her arms, back to Seán. He had a lit bundle of sage he dragged over her body from head to heel and one hand to the other. She then had to turn around and let him do the same to her front, and she closed her eyes as her small nose wrinkled from the smoke gliding over her face as the bundle was slowly lowered towards her feet. Her eyes slowly opened as she blew some runaway strands out of her face, the rest of her hair in a French braid done by Teddy upstairs. The blonde woman still did not want much to do with magic, and she had seemed to be taking more time to herself to think ever since the trip to the magic shop yesterday. It was understandable to be confused and to want to mull over the information she already had before gaining any more, but Charlie wished she'd hurry up with her thinking. She wanted to be able to share this with Teddy.

Magic wasn't the mysterious force of ancient lore—well, not completely. Much of it was still mysterious, but it was also much like a sect of science mixed with math. Upon first hearing this, Charlie hadn't liked the idea of learning magic. The wand-slinging of _Harry Potter_ had sounded more magical than having to think of equations and such. It was still beautiful though. The way energy flowed… It was like when Charlie used to run track. Her friends hadn't understood the beauty of a body in motion—the musical rhythm of her footfalls as she ran. The way her heart pumped was like poetry as her muscles stretched, her mind putting any pain away from her consciousness. The exertion, sweat, breathing that fought to be steady… it was all a beautiful song Charlie could hear once again as she spun spells and stirred charms and potions.

At first, Charlie hadn't expected to hear that song again. Then, she learned more and more about magic. The first spell had taken so much out of her; she felt, once again, the ache of her muscles and joints as well as the rumbling of her stomach from the loss of too many calories. She had unwittingly overexerted herself. As she had trained more, however, it had been just like training for track and field. She had needed to learn how to control the flow of energy. She had needed to learn how to concentrate and stay focused on her goal. The finish line was different, but it was still a finish. It was a goal the young girl could reach with a smile on her face and a song in her heart.

"You have a nice aura, it seems," said Seán with a lighthearted smile.

"What does that mean?" The talk of auras, souls, spirits, and the like still sounded like myth to Charlie. Those things were usually outside the science of the magic Sierra and Scarlett had been teaching her. It was the part of the mysterious lore she liked to avoid when she could.

"It means you're pure already. I just wanted to make sure before you step into the kitchen. Sierra and I spent over an hour purifying it for the spell." Seán gave a slight chuckle and moved aside so that Charlie could walk into the clean kitchen.

Already in there were Scarlett and Ekon, who were on the other side of the room, by the kitchen island. Charlie walked over to be next to Scarlett, going in a clockwise motion to be there. For as long as they did the spell, all five would have to move only clockwise around the room—even if it meant making a circle before getting somewhere.

On the kitchen island was a gas stove to Ekon's left, and it held a stainless steel cauldron. A chopping board and kris knife were in front of Ekon and Scarlett, and there was a mortar and pestle made of thick glass in front of Charlie. Measuring cups, spoons, and an assortment of herbs, seeds, and wood were on the other side of the stove where Sierra and Seán were to stand. The narrow space behind the stove and in front of Charlie held two taper candles: indigo and violet, and there were also two pillar candles: red and orange. These candles were handmade by Seán, and the wicks were blackened from previous use. It looked like a ceremony, complete with Sierra finishing off Seán's smudging and setting the bundle of sage in a porcelain bowl outside the kitchen, smoke slowly rising and swirling about in the air. Sierra then walked in, stopping by the assortment of herbs. Her husband then came in next to her, nodding to Ekon.

"The spell book is on the table"—Sierra motioned with her head to the small table to Charlie's right—"and I sat it up earlier so that we could read it." Charlie knew that this explanation was more for her (and possibly Ekon) than anyone else.

"First," Sierra continued, "Seán will set up the frankincense incense. It's for protection. Seán?"

Taking a step back, the tall, green-eyed man walked past his wife and the others, going around the island in a clockwise path to reach the incense that was situated on the white counter by where the microwave had once been (it had been moved out of the room during the purification process). He then went back to his spot as Sierra began to move just as he had to get the stones next to the dragon head-shaped incense holder. The stone she grabbed was orange-brown and looked like it had come straight from the ground, rough and unpolished. Sierra then went back to her spot, holding the chunk of gemstone in both hands. After taking five deep breaths with her eyes closed, she spoke:

"Aragonite, untreated by man's hand and taken as Kailine-ana had created it"—Sierra cracked open one eye, glancing over at the tome set up on a black stand—"with her mighty and passionate fire. Amplify and guide our energies and help us grow in confidence." She brought the aragonite up her to lips and took five more breaths before placing it between the indigo taper and red column candle. She then lightly blew on the indigo taper, and a vermillion spot on the blackened wick appeared. As Sierra blew, there was a slight glow from the center of the aragonite as the spot grew into a flame slowly growing strong as Sierra stopped blowing and stood back up straight.

Charlie's turn. She took a deep breath and glanced over at the tome as if it could give her encouragement. She then stepped back and walked over to the other three stones, picking up the chunk of garnet. Like the other stones, it wasn't polished, which made it look completely different from what jewelry stores sold. It was more orange than red, but, to Charlie, that made it even more beautiful. The chunk was a little less than half the size of her palm, and, with steady steps, she passed Seán and Sierra to stand behind the two column candles.

Just as Sierra, Charlie held the stone in both hands glanced back at the book once more, committing the short passage to memory. She then licked her lips and turned back, lids fluttering before they slid over her eyes. She then took five deep breaths.

"Garnet, untreated by man's hand and taken as Kailine-ana had created it, given to Gaia by the dragons of power and protection. Give us the strength we need to cast, and help us see the end. Help us find the balance to draw upon the power to become empowered." She then opened her eyes as she set the stone between the two column candles. Charlie then leaned forward and lightly blew on the blackened wick of the red candle. She was nearly out of breath when the fire finally sparked, and she went back to her space, her heart beginning to speed up again as Scarlett took a step back to do her part.

**XXX**

Why did this all have to be so difficult? Why was it so hard to forget? There was nothing horrible that would beg for a forgetful mind. He had never laid a hand on her. He had never mistreated her. Sure, he once forgot about her to go have a dance-off with Emmett during the dance that one time, and he once also lied about twisting his ankle (Teddy should have known that he wasn't practicing the "hacky sack"). Still, there was no real reason for Teddy to try and make herself forget about Spencer. Their time together had been wonderful. He was caring and patient. He was so sweet and could easily show affection, which was hard to find in most guys.

Maybe that was why Teddy just wanted to forget all about him. As she lay on her bed upstairs, ignoring the spell going on down in the kitchen, Teddy thought about her run-in with Spencer. It was yesterday—too fresh on Teddy's mind. She should have just left. She should have never said his name out loud. She should have never felt anything or him. Not after all these years. Teddy knew that emotions had no reasoning or logic behind them. They just _were_. She and Spencer had broken it off about twelve years ago. Both had realized their paths were leading in different directions, and neither one had wanted to be hurt by being "just friends." Now, though… Did their paths cross once more for a reason?

_His head came up, and he turned to see who had said his name. Teddy's heart thundered, but she couldn't free herself from the paralysis that claimed each muscle. They seized and tensed, keeping her in place. Not even her eyelids worked, and she could not stop his eyes from meeting hers. He seemed just as surprised as she, his jaw slack and eyes as unblinking as hers. It was like a staring contest until he finally got up, movements slow as he broke the spell. Teddy finally blinked, barely registering as the waiter brought her the water. A muttering of thanks spilled out of her mouth as her eyes stayed on the man making his way over to her._

_Not getting the hint, the waiter looked from her to Spencer. "You know Mr. Walsh?"_

He comes here often,_ thought Teddy, cursing herself for coming to this restaurant. Why hadn't she stayed with Sierra?_

"_Um… yeah." That was all Teddy could say of the matter, and, luckily, the waiter was a smart kid. He left after quickly saying he'd give her another moment to look over the menu._

_Spencer finally reached her table. "Teddy?" There was disbelief in his eyes. "Is it really you?"_

There had been a hesitance in his voice Teddy had completely understood. One never realized how much a person's appearance could change. Teddy's face had matured over the years, and her hair had been cut to her shoulders, hanging in loose curls as bangs brushed her eyelashes. She had started to go natural when wearing make-up everyday had started to make her break out, so it was probably different seeing her without eyeliner, eye shadow, or bronzer. It made her face a little paler than she liked, and Teddy grimaced when she realized that that could be a reason Andor had thought she was a Vampire.

Teddy shook her head. _You're getting off-topic!_

Remembering the meeting, Teddy went over the geometry of Spencer's face in her head. It was more chiseled, and his jaw was more prominent than when they had been teenagers. He had still been very recognizable though, even from behind. Teddy didn't like that. She didn't like being able to identify him even when he had his back to her. He needed to be a stranger. He had a career now, and Teddy had a new path that had danger on each side of it. Spencer was so sweet and caring. He shouldn't have to be on that path. Teddy didn't want to drag him down it, so she had only apologized and ran, quickly grabbing her backpack as she left. She had forgotten to pay, and the perky hostess had just stared with a confused look as Teddy ran back to the townhouse, trying not to cry.

Though she had never been athletic, Teddy had okay stamina and speed. She had been panting when she made it back to the townhouse, Sierra joining her less than a minute later, just as out of breath. She placed one hand on her knee as she bent over, her hair falling over her shoulders and on either side of her face as she tried to get her breathing back to normal. It had looked like she was about to throw up.

_It looked like Sierra was about to drop the book, and Teddy decided to take it from her. It felt like it was maybe five to eight pounds in weight, and Teddy figured that it would be tough carrying this thing while running and dodging people._

"_What… the… hell… happened…?" She panted for a while before she finally stood back up, her breathing mostly normal._

_Biting her lip, Teddy set back down her backpack, a few of the tears breaking through the barrier. "It's nothing."_

"_Yeah," Sierra sarcastically responded, "I can tell from this." She used her thumb to wipe one of the tears sliding over Teddy's cheek. "Come and sit." The two sat on the second concrete step that led up to the door of Sierra's home. Teddy set her backpack behind her as she clutched the book to her chest, and Sierra set the canvass bag behind her along with her purse._

_The brunette took a deep breath. "Now, what happened? I was leaving the magic shop when I saw you take off like a demon was on your tail. But if you don't wanna talk to me, I can go wake up Charlie. She's probably just about to wake up from her nap, anyway. She normally doesn't sleep long."_

"_No, just let her sleep," Teddy said quickly. "She doesn't need to know about him anyway." She flinched. "Him"—why did she say "_him_"?_

"_Him, eh?"_

_Not answering, Teddy looked away. She just should have said "it" or "this". Why did she have to give such a huge clue?_

"_Charlie said that in those videos, you talked a lot about a guy named Spencer. This him? Or am I just being my usual hopeless-romantic self?" Sierra gave a smirk, trying to liven the mood, but Teddy wasn't up for it. Still, talking may help. Even if it _was_ to Sierra._

"_We broke up after the high school graduation," Teddy informed, still not looking at her. "I was supposed to leave for Peru for more than two years, and he was going to D.C. for college…" Teddy trailed off. "And… and I can't believe I forgot about that until just now!"_

"_I'm guessing you don't want to like him again?"_

"_Yeah." Teddy's eyes moved to the ground, and she pushed the tome against her legs. "He's probably moved on, and I need to move on too. I'm here now, and he doesn't need to be brought into this life either."_

Sierra had been more understanding than Teddy would have expected. Apparently, the "cool and collected" woman had gone through the same thing with Seán years ago. Sierra had spoken with a faraway look in her eyes, making it look like she was almost in a trance. Her voice was even through it all, but Teddy had been able to see the flashes of emotions through those unblinking eyes. Her face had more-or-less stayed neutral, but it was the first time Teddy has seen her as an actual human being rather than a statue.

Sitting up in the bed, Teddy decided that she couldn't take just lying around anymore. She pulled down her short-sleeved shirt, covering back up her flat stomach. Why did it have to be so hot? It was almost ninety degrees now, and Teddy was almost ready to say that she'd get cooler if she were set on fire. With a sigh, she pinned her hair up in a messy bun with a pencil on the desk. Her thick hair was great in the winter, but it killed her every summer. It was also tough to keep up in a certain 'do for an extended time, so Teddy shook her head a bit to make sure that the pencil would hold her honey-colored locks. She felt a pull at her roots, but it held. With a half-hearted smile, she lifted the hem of her shirt and took the halter with her new gun off of the table. It was called a Glock 17. It had a stainless steel slide, and Ekon had said that he knew how to convert it into a full automatic—that hadn't really meant anything to Teddy at first, but these people apparently liked guns and were "more than willing" to "educate" her.

Once the belt was secure around her waist, Teddy pulled the shirt back down, standing in front of the full-length mirror by the closet door, making sure that the loose shirt didn't make the bump over her left hip obvious. Some of the deep orange vine-like designs looked like they were reaching for the hidden gun, but Teddy didn't think much of it as she grabbed her backpack. Even with a few changes of clothes, some toiletries, and the contents from her purse—Teddy made a small sneer as she thought about her pawned bag, given to her by Leonie—the bag wasn't as heavy as she would have thought. Maybe it was just because she was used to just carrying it around everywhere. It had become a part of her almost.

Coming down the stairs, Teddy could hear Ekon speaking from the kitchen:

"Hawk's eye, untreated by man's hand and taken as Kailine-ana had created it the mighty and stable earth. Help us understand and accept change rather than fight it. Help us find our inner strength, wisdom, and intuition. Also help us with creativity—bring upon the light of Dekrin so we may be able to see hidden paths to lead us out of our problems and to a solution."

_Speaking to stones, _thought Teddy as she went to the door. _I want to say they're crazy, but I'm still a little freaked after seeing Charlie levitate that pillow…_

Teddy didn't like magic. She didn't want to learn it, and she didn't want to be in the presence of it. For too many years, it had been something that just didn't exist. Teddy only saw it in movies or read it in books, and in both, magic tended to lead to trouble. They didn't need any more trouble than what was already before them.

Since the others weren't supposed to be disturbed (something about the spell), Teddy left quietly. With as vigilant as they were, it was very likely her absence would be known in seconds anyway. They had probably even heard her come down the stairs. It was like being with her parents all over again, except without the embarrassing punishments (thank goodness!). It was hard for Teddy to keep secrets. She had never been one to hide her emotions, except for more recently. Even then, though, it was like she was wearing a neon sign with her emotion blinking brightly. Even in Austria, Leonie had always known something was up—she had just waited for Teddy to come to her until she just couldn't wait anymore. Who else had been able to see past her paper shield? Teddy should have known that two years of wearing a mask wouldn't be able to fool the people that have learned for years to look past her face.

Walking out into the sun, Teddy headed down the street, one-shouldering her backpack. She wasn't really sure where she was heading, but she didn't want to stay in Georgetown. This was _D.C_.! It had history coming out of the wazoo! There were museums and monuments, and Capitol Hill was a place she had always wanted to visit. She had never seen the Washington or Lincoln Monuments; she had never seen the Vietnam War Memorial, the US Capitol Building, the Union Station, the Congressional Cemetery…

There was supposed to be a trip to Washington D.C. during Teddy's junior year in college, but she hadn't been able to afford it (she had only needed _sixty-two_ more dollars, but her parents had refused to give any more). Now, she was here. She could finally see the sites she had only seen pictures of. After a moment's thought, Teddy decided her first stop would be the Smithsonian. She smiled for real and hailed a cab.

**xxx**

Why had it been called the Gilded Age again? Who had called it that? According to one of the little plaques, it had been Mark Twain that gave it the name. As she kept reading, Teddy remembered why she had hated this chapter in US History. It was absolutely _boring_. She remembered certain names like Upton Sinclair, Thomas Edison, Adam Smith, and J. D. Rockerfeller. She remembered the analogies to _The Wizard of Oz_, such as Dorothy representing the average American; her slippers the money, which was based on silver; the scarecrow as the farmers; and… what else? Teddy didn't really care, but she remembered a quote by a woman farmer (Mary Elizabeth Clyens, right?): "What you farmers need to do is raise less corn and more _hell_!"

Smiling, Teddy went down the wide hallway to look at the beautiful paintings by John Singer Sargent, Abbott Handerson Thayer, and Henry Ossawa Tanner. Teddy would never call herself an art aficionado, but she did like to enjoy different works in small doses. She had already seen some of the Impressionist and Southwestern art, and she had decided to look here before going on to a different exhibit. She had also looked at the Native American exhibits as well as a few others that had to do with history and culture.

"Teddy?"

Her spine suddenly realigned in a seizing jerk when the deep voice ricocheted off of her ear drums as if they were snares. Her muscles tensed, freezing her in place as she stood in front of a painting by Albert Pinkham Ryder. It felt like nearly an hour before she could finally move and face the possessor of the voice.

"Spencer."

Her tone was curt, and she tried to keep her face neutral, eyes blank. Spencer was one of those people that could see through her mask, but she hoped that the time away had made him forget how to read her. There was no chance of them ever getting back together. Was that why he sought her out? Had he been following her? Washington D.C. was a _huge_ city. There was _no_ way that this could simply be coincidence. It also couldn't be fate trying to push them together. They were pulled apart in the first place for a reason. Teddy had to remember that. There was no such thing as moving back. There was only going forward.

He seemed to hesitate. "I… I didn't expect to see you here."

_Liar_. Spencer had always been just as easy to read as Teddy had been. _He's been following me. Why? Spencer's never really been the stalker-type._

Even whenever Teddy would drag him to romance movies, Spencer had never understood how Teddy could like the Byronic Hero types. His exact words when describing them were "creepers who needed hobbies and therapy". Why would he try the whole "admiring from afar" thing now? Especially if he was just going to ruin it by coming up to her.

_Well, _thought Teddy, _he always _had_ been impatient._

Clearing her throat, Teddy spoke in just above a whisper, her eyes roaming away from his even though she tried to keep eye-contact. "I didn't expect to see you here, either. Do… do you come to the museum often?"

_Stupid question!_ Teddy scolded herself. She sounded like a nervous girl trying to get a guy to ask her out! At that thought, she forced herself to make eye-contact again. She was a strong, confident woman. She couldn't be intimidated by anyone, including her ex-boyfriend.

"Yeah, I've met a few…" He seemed to be searching for the right word. "Informants. I've met some of my informants here."

"Informants?" Didn't Spencer used to want to be a journalist? "You're not a cop, are you? You never seemed like the type." Finally, her tone was more confident now. Her voice was even, and she wasn't being overly-talkative as per usual when she became nervous.

Spencer gave a light chuckle, looking a little more at ease. "No, I write articles for a magazine."

Ah, that sounded more like Spencer. "Wow, cool."

"Yeah, I've been trying to get in touch to meet someone for this article, but Blue says she travels often—doesn't stay in one place for very long."

"Oh?" Teddy wanted to leave. She didn't want to talk to Spencer. She didn't want to get reacquainted with him. Yet, she was planted to that spot. As people walked around them, she found that she couldn't leave. Was it just her being polite? She hadn't had trouble with being rude before. Why now? "Who's Blue?"

"Uh, another informant." Spencer grew nervous. "I actually can't talk much about them."

"I understand that." Teddy scratched her head, her thick hair keeping her short nails from really reaching her scalp. "What are you writing about? Does it have to do with politics?" That was pretty much the only reason Teddy could think of that would require certain informants to keep pseudonyms such as "Blue".

"Sorta…" His hand went to the back of his neck—one of his tells. This was something he did while contemplating on whether to lie or not. After a moment, his hand came down to his side, his middle finger tapping his thigh. That meant he had chosen to tell the truth (though whether the whole truth or a part-truth Teddy still couldn't tell). "The magazine's about conspiracy theories. I'm doing a series about this secretive group called the Giltebreks."

There was a slight laugh, like he thought the whole thing to be ridiculous.

"The what?" It felt as though Teddy's heart had fallen through her stomach.

_This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing  
><em>_To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;  
><em>_This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining  
><em>_On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,  
><em>_But whose velvet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,  
><em>_She shall press, ah, nevermore!_

_- "The Raven" (stanza 13) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	27. Germs of Evil

**_"Nil sie numine" means "Nothing without the Diety"._**

"_Nil sie numine." - motto of Colorado_

When the light flicked on, Gabe jumped as the door slammed shut behind him. His overnight bag hit the ground with a hollow **thump**, and Gabe could only stare. He had been the one to turn on the light, but the image before him had caught him off-guard—like a burglar caught in the act. He had done nothing illegal, but he might as well have. He had left the apartment with barely a word of explanation, and he knew that she had been suspicious of his odd behavior for the past few months. She probably thought he hadn't known she was trying to get him to talk, but liars often had to be two steps ahead of those being lied to so that the victims wouldn't notice that there was an arrow tracking their every move. Gabe had the same bow in his hands, and there was still another arrow left. Not only that, but this arrow would ricochet just like the last ones. The wounds would be deep on both ends. Already, Gabe could feel his heart tightening as he looked into those eyes of ice-cold beauty.

With barely a thought, that ice could melt and give way to a raging fire that made her both dangerous and wondrous. Most fire was red, orange, or maybe even yellow if the circumstances were right.

Not Jo.

No… Jo was full of extremes with few spots of grey. Her fire was so hot, it was a deep blue—burning ice. She may have little room for grey, but her extremes meshed and flipped so often, she may as well just paint her own soul various shades of the ambiguous color that shrouded the rest of the world.

"Hello, Gabe."

Even her voice was cold. It wasn't ice; no, nothing so warm. That voice and tone reminded Gabe of a scene in _Jason X_ where Jason stuck Adrienne's head in a sink filled with liquid nitrogen. It froze her head in about five seconds, which allowed Jason to smash her face into the counter. That was how Gabe felt, but, instead of his head, it felt like the liquid nitrogen was being injected into his bloodstream, freezing him from the inside out.

She sat on one of the chairs from the kitchen table. It was in the center of the den, her arms were crossed over her chest, and one leg was thrown over the other. Her expression was blank, all except for those icy, deep brown eyes. Her hair, straighter today, was draped over her shoulders, framing that beautiful face Gabe could no longer bear to look at. Jo was smart. She had known for some time now that something was up, and it was already amazing that she had waited so long to confront her boyfriend. Now, though, it seemed that patience had been worn all the way through. It had always been thin to begin with, but Gabe's abrupt departure with little explanation had been the knife to slice through that threadbare sheet. Now, the icy anger claimed her very being, even staining her soul.

The reason Gabe could tell it stained her soul was because her easel had been turned so that he could see her newest painting. It was on a canvas smaller than her others—maybe eight by ten inches if he had to guess—but was just as stunning as her others.

Of course, by stunning, he didn't necessarily mean "beautiful". Sure, there was beauty in it, but the stunning he was thinking of was the type that actually _stunned_ him. The kind that made him stop dead in his tracks as paralysis claimed each seizing muscle until he was nothing more than a breathing statue with a mind moving one-million miles a second.

Trying to ignore the grotesque and bone-chilling painting, Gabe kept his dark eyes locked on Jo's. "Hey, Jo." He managed to keep the tremor out of his voice, but his tone was definitely much weaker than his girlfriend's. Why couldn't she just start cussing him out while punching and kicking already?

"You've been gone for five days."

There was the slightest of cracks to her voice, near the end of the sentence. If it had been anyone but Gabe listening to her, it would have gone unnoticed, but that tiny crack rang deafeningly in Gabe's ears. She wasn't just angry; she was hurt. Upset. Sad. Gabe couldn't deal with sad. One of the reasons he liked Jo so much was because she didn't cry. She had always found those "good-night texts" and "weekaversaries" lame, which had been very easy on Gabe, who hated all that romance stuff as well. When he had just stopped calling or texting her for days or even weeks at a time, she hadn't really cared. It had always been their time together that counted—that made the time apart forgotten. What was different this time?

_Like I have to ask…,_ Gabe thought, mentally slapping himself. "Yeah." He leaned against the wall for support. "My mom needed comfort. My… my dad left."

A lump formed in Gabe's throat. That subject was still very sore. No, it was past sore. Saying it out loud ripped open the wound to let in the torrent of vinegar and salt that felt like acid consuming his entire body.

There was a flicker of some alien emotion in Jo's eyes. Was that empathy? Gabe had always thought that she was too cynical for that emotion. "I'm sorry." She said it in an abrupt tone. It was like she wanted to say it as quickly as possible as to keep the tears from erupting. "But this is about us, Gabe."

It was a sore subject for Jo as well, Gabe well knew. Her own father had left her when she was six. She didn't like to talk about it.

"I know." He took a breath. "I just never knew how to tell you."

"First I wondered if there was some slut in the office you were keeping on the side that you decided to screw with every other day."

"Jo…"

"But I know I'm too good for you to leave for some whore."

_Yep, that's Jo_. Under any other circumstances, Gabe would have laughed at that statement.

It was actually true. Some thought that Gabe was just afraid to cheat on Jo, but that was very far from the truth. He loved her. He loved how strong she was, how determined and focused she was. He even loved her mood swings and other traits others would deem too difficult to live with. Gabe had been raised to never hit a girl, but, with Jo, he didn't have to pretend or be anyone else. When they sparred, their frustrations came out, and, when they kissed, all had been resolved. When they kissed, those frustrations had melted away because all that mattered right then was the two of them being together.

There'd be no kissing tonight, and the sparring would be more like Jo pummeling him into paste.

"That you are." Gabe couldn't find it in himself to smile at that moment, but a certain light in Jo's eyes showed that she knew it was there.

"So what is it?" She blinked. It was quick and harsh, as if she were blinking back tears. It shoved a horrible pain into Gabe's chest. "PJ thought you were going to propose. He didn't tell me, but I could tell that that's what he was thinking. I knew immediately that that wasn't it. You know how I feel about marriage, so that couldn't have been it." She swallowed, probably realizing that she was beginning to babble. "So what? What's the real reason you've seemed so distant lately? Why is it you've been speaking less? Why is it you haven't been trying during our sparring sessions?" She swallowed again, and two tears finally escaped as she looked away. It was a while before she spoke again, a tremor now in her voice. "Why do you look so damn guilty?"

Damn guilty. That just about summed it up. He was guilty about keeping such a horrible secret for two years. He was guilty for helping a group he absolutely hated with an icy passion that would rival even Jo's anger. Why was he _helping_ Diacona? Was it just because they were "less evil" than the Giltebreks? Didn't Jo once do a series about the evil in human nature? What was that she once said?

"_The lesser of two evils is still just as evil—just in a different way than what we want to see."_

She had said this during one of her calm days, using a brush to spread graphite to shade a picture of a hand squeezing a human heart—later painted with watercolor—that was bleeding money (five or six types of currency, if Gabe was remembering correctly). That had been… what? Three years ago? It wasn't long after they first started dating, and Gabe had gone to visit Jo in her art class. It didn't really matter, but Gabe couldn't help but think of the painting. His "lesser evil" was squeezing hearts for money. They were claiming water and forcing starving and thirsty people to buy it at twice the price. They were trading illegal arms to rebels and radical groups. They had even been the ones behind the plutonium heist. Lesser evil? Really? Gabe wasn't sure if he could even define evil anymore.

"Gabe!" Her eyes snapped over to his again when he didn't respond. The tears still poured, and her mouth twitched. Was it possible for a broken heart to keep breaking? If the pieces kept breaking, would he eventually end up with no heart at all?

"I'm sorry." Gabe hung his head, unable to meet those eyes.

Jo's next words were said slowly. "Don't _say_ you're sorry!" She stood up. "If you were _really_ sorry, you'd _tell me_ what the hell's been going on!" Her voice had dropped and buried its tremor, but the tears kept falling, leaving stains on her flushed cheeks.

There was a certain tone to her voice; Gabe knew it well. It told him, "And if you don't look at me while I'm talking, I will gouge your eyes out and _make_ you look at me." She wasn't one to make idle threats, either—even if the threat was unsaid—so Gabe looked up at her.

Her eyes were blazing now as her eyes bore down into Gabe's. Was it possible for a glare to boil blood? Evaporate all of the fluid in his body until he was nothing but ash? That was how Gabe felt at the moment, but he forced himself to stand his ground and meet her gaze. He may feel like a guilty piece of crap, but that didn't mean he had to look like a weakling that couldn't hold his own. This was like going up against a bear. He had to be bigger and stronger—okay, _act_ bigger and stronger. He could usually go up against the bear on his own, but the recent events had drained him of his great strength.

"It's complicated and a long story," he finally said.

"So _what_?"

Gabe cut her off before she could keep yelling. "I'm going to tell you everything, but…" He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Just… you may want to sit down first. This may take all night."

**XXX**

Keeping his navy duffel close to his body, James maneuvered through the thick crowd on the platform. The sky was overcast, setting the mood for this next stage of the journey. Of course, it was common for this part of the country to have this sort of weather often, but James couldn't help but feel that it was a warning from Gaia.

Wasn't it Sierra who said that she didn't see a Guardian or Divine stepping in to tell them what to do or where to go? Well, they might not be telling them what path to take, but James could see that they hadn't abandoned them. The Immortals tended to leave them to find their own way onto the path they were meant to walk. They were supposed to be observers, ever-watching and never intervening unless Tisanisenka deemed it needed. James smiled solemnly, thinking back to some of those stories his mother had told him as a child. Those old tales always comforted him, and he could almost hear his mother's voice as he made his way towards the parking lot.

None of them were ever alone. That was what those stories were supposed to tell them. Something else the stories told of was that they _couldn't_ do anything alone. Everyone needed people to trust and depend on, and everything was interconnected so intricately, the threads were invisible. Yet, at the same time, they were stronger than steel. They couldn't be broken easily, and, if woven correctly, these threads connecting everyone could create something that could not be destroyed. That was something Silver Wing tried to do. It was supposed to intertwine all of their individual threads to where the Giltebreks would have no way of wiping them out. They'd be able to keep going—keep fighting.

"Ah, James." The tenor voice came from a tall man (a couple of inches taller than James) standing next to a green Explorer. He pushed his long, light copper bangs out of his deep-set eyes, his thin lips quirked up in a small smirk.

"Hey, Immanuil." James gave a smile of greeting, meeting those eyes that were deep blue, almost violet. "How was the drive?"

Going over to the back door, Immanuil answered, "Traffic was a bitch, I got stuck behind a dumbass for over an hour, I only had three hours of sleep, and I'm thirsty as hell." He slammed the door shut after James set his duffel onto the floor in front of the middle seats. "Don't even get me _started_ on Krystle. She arrived a few days ago, but she said she wanted to rest before going on another long trip." He then headed for the driver's seat as James went around to the passenger's side.

"It wouldn't surprise me if she _walked_ from Denver," said James as he secured the seat belt over him. "She avoids cars whenever she can; the last train she was on, she _jumped out_; planes make her nervous—"

Immanuil's laugh interrupted him. "What _doesn't_ make her nervous? I haven't heard about the train-thing, though."

As they turned onto NW Irving Street, James smiled, thinking back to what Allison had told him. "You know how Krys gets paranoid, right?" He turned to see Immanuil as he turned again to get on NW Broadway. "Well, she was riding on a train leaving from Stockholm in the middle of December."

"I think I can see where this is going," the Vampire chuckled as they went over a bridge.

"This was several years ago. There had been another mass death of birds—a different species this time, and it was a smaller number than in twenty-eleven." That had been a nightmare, feeding the raging fire of people's fear of the apocalypse. "She was heading to… Nässjö? Narvik? I don't know; it was some city that started with an _N_. But it was getting dark, and she freaked out when the lights in her car flickered. She thought that the train was being hijacked by Giltebrek cronies. She thought they were after her work—she had _just_ joined Silver Wing—so she grabbed her backpack and ran for the door. She went out between two cars and jumped into the snow, rolling down the hill. I heard she fractured her right arm, got a scar by her left eye, and twisted her left ankle. She ended up lying there for a while, but the snow was deep. It helped to numb her pain, though, even _with_ her trench coat."

"Well, that's what happens when you lie in snow for an extended time." Immanuil shook his head. "I'm guessing she also got rid of her phone, thinking that she was being tracked."

"Of course. So she ended up limping to the nearest town—two _miles_ away."

"Senka Divines!" Immanuil gave a bark of laugher. "Well, at least she's alive. Is she sure she doesn't need medication?"

"She took some at first to please Allison, since they had just started dating, but Krys hated the way it made her feel, so she stopped taking them. Allison says she doesn't mind. Apparently, she said it makes life more interesting."

"Like throwing lit candles?" The copper-haired man gave James a sidelong glance, eyebrows raised.

Running a hand through his hair, James muttered, "That was actually Allison."

"Oh, so they're _both_ crazy."

"Alli was mad—"

"Didn't I just say that?"

James ignored him. "—about finding out Krystle and I had been lying to her about our… heritage." He placed two fingers at his right temple, remembering that day. "She felt betrayed, seeing as I've known her since we were kids and that she and Krystle had _just_ started living together."

Shaking his head, Immanuil merged onto I-5. "We're going to head to Seattle, first. There's a club there where I can get a drink in the back."

"Alright." Truthfully, James had first been nervous that the Vampire would have tried to take a bite from _his_ neck. Even after all the centuries, there was discrimination against the race—especially with Witches, who had once used Vampires as slaves and servants until nearly three-hundred years after War. Most people tended to think of drinking blood as something foul—evil. It was understandable, and James tried not to linger within those uncalled-for fears. Immanuil had a bad temper, but he was a good and loyal friend.

The conversation was light as they drove down the interstate, but Immanuil later had James put in a CD. He chose one with a mixture of several different artists, and the car was soon filled with rock music. James tapped his foot, eyes closed. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, his mind a deluge of uncertainty and anxiety. They were about to come down to the wire for Milky Way Earth. Everyone blamed the Giltebreks' weather control on Global Warming. Many people had already died, but there were still billions left. The Giltebreks were just about ready to change that. After over a decade of testing the power the facility possessed, they had to be getting ready for Armageddon.

**xxx**

Because the trip from Portland to Gakona would take over forty-six hours at _best_, James and Immanuil had needed to stay the night in Seattle, Washington. They had then managed to drive all the way to Pink Mountain, British Columbia before both men decided they needed to sleep in an actual bed (well, _James_ took the bed while Immanuil slept on the floor). They had taken turns driving, changing every five to six hours. Because Immanuil hadn't been able to sleep well in the passenger seat—maybe a collective thirty to forty minutes—he had been very irritable and often complained of a horrible headache. James would then just say they'd get more pain pills at the next stop before inwardly praising the Guardians and Divines that the Vampire had gotten his drink back in Washington. They were both then filled with relief when they finally arrived in the tiny town of Gakona.

"Praise the Divines," Immanuil murmured as James pulled into the driveway of the two-story cabin.

The Vampire's great-great-great grandfather had built it with his five brothers when they came to Gakona to escape the police. According to Immanuil, they had been the leaders of a mob, which the police had finally been able to disband, and those six were the only ones able to escape, sneak onto one of the new shuttles, and come to Earth. They had then traveled all the way to Alaska and then built this house, which was near the outskirts of the town. Immanuil's mother had also remodeled it when he was a teenager.

Rubbing his eyes, James cut the engine and tossed the keys over to Immanuil. The ring fell to the ground when the pale man's hands fumbled, and he groaned as he picked them back up and undid his seat belt. As they got out and went to get their bags on the middle seats, Krystle opened the front door and stepped out onto the cobblestone walkway. She wore only a strapless white top with black at the hem with onyx Bermuda shorts, and she smiled and waved. James used his index and middle fingers to give a salute, smiling at the friendly face. It looked like she had added another segment to the intricate, ebony vines that started at the base of her neck, winding halfway down her right arm. The vines held blossoms of different Celtic-knot markings, creating ambiguous pictures, which probably only Krystle could recognize.

"Good evening!" She gave a wide smile. "Was the trip alright?" She brushed back her bangs, briefly revealing the small, black crescent moon created by a Celtic knot, which was next to her left eye.

"No," said Immanuil tersely as he hefted her large, orange backpack over one shoulder as he went over to the curving walkway, pressing the button to lock his Explorer. Once it beeped, he pocketed the keys and walked around the considerably shorter woman to get inside. Krystle watched him for a moment before turning her deep green eyes onto James.

"He's not in a very good mood, is he?" Her smile was still there, but James noticed dark circles under her eyes as she brushed back her bangs again.

"He wasn't able to get much beauty rest." James gave Krystle a hug, but she nearly choked him with her thin arms (she was stronger than she looked). When he got his neck out of her grasp, James walked with her inside. "You just get up?"

"A minute ago," the maln-grah confirmed. "I've been bored the past two days, though. Immanuil doesn't keep a television, and I don't necessarily enjoy his taste in books or music. I've been stuck playing chess, checkers, and cards."

James couldn't recall hearing of anyone else joining them. "With who?" He shut the door behind them and went over to the couch on the far wall, setting his duffel bag at his feet.

Sitting next to him, Krystle pulled her feet up onto the cushion to sit cross-legged. Elbow on her knee, she slid her hand from her temple to the side of her head as to keep her bangs out of her eyes. "Alec. He kept beating me at chess though, so I finally had us play cards. Then he accused me of cheating, so we played checkers." She motioned to the checker board on the coffee table, and James glanced over at it. The black side had four kings and two other pieces, and the red side had only one piece. However, the positioning showed that the single red piece would have been able to jump the two black pieces and three of the kings.

"Ah." James knew that Alec was Krystle's imaginary friend since childhood. Most people thought she was hallucinating, but that wasn't true. She _knew_ he wasn't real. According to Allison, he was an Angel of Justice Krystle had never bothered to get rid of.

"_She just says, 'Real friends have to leave you eventually, even if it is only for a short while. Imaginary ones, however, are _supposed_ to stay with you forever.'"_

"You think it odd I not just play with Alec but can also lose to him." It wasn't a question. "You can probably guess that I was red."

Was there something about being crazy that made someone a mind-reader? (No… according to stories, it was the other way around.) "Yeah, definitely weird." There was no point in lying to Krystle. "We should probably start planning. You have your notes?"

"In the floor safe in my room." She gave a shallow nod. "You got those military notes?"

"Borrowed from that base in New Mexico." James had been able to infiltrate five various bases around the world. The final base he had infiltrated was where he had found sensitive information on the weather control facility, but why it had been in New Mexico when the actual facility was in Alaska was beyond him. He had nearly been caught once, but, luckily, the plutonium theft had been of much greater importance than a simple breaking-and-entering (especially when nothing had seemed to be missing).

"Good." Immanuil leaned against the wall of the hallway entrance. "Now, I'm going to sleep for a couple of hours. Then we can start our planning."

_O Rose, thou art sick!  
><em>_The invisible worm  
><em>_That flies in the night,  
><em>_In the howling storm,_

_Has found out thy bed  
><em>_Of crimson joy,  
><em>_And his dark secret love  
><em>_Does thy life destroy._

_- "The Sick Rose" by William Blake_


	28. Drown Cats and Blind Puppies

**_"Miltibus E Gentibus Vires" means "From many peoples strength"._**

"_Multibus E Gentibus Vires." - motto of Saskatchewan_

"You've been awfully quiet." Spencer tried to smile, but he had to admit that sitting next to his high school sweetheart on a bench in the Smithsonian was pretty awkward. He had hoped that the meeting at the restaurant would have been the last—Teddy running away _had_ been a pretty clear picture of what she felt. However, she hadn't run away this time. As soon as Spencer had mentioned his job, she had forced a smile (Spencer still knew her well enough to know when her smiles were genuine, and a genuine one had not yet appeared) and asked for them to sit down.

"_I feel a little dizzy. I had sorta rushed out of the townhouse without eating," she chuckled—again, forced. "I probably just need to sit down."_

Spencer had then led her to one of the benches in the center of the exhibit, also offering her a honey-nut bar he usually kept in his briefcase. She had accepted it, asking a few questions about Spencer's work. Of course, he hadn't been able to give any detailed answers in light of his informants' privacy, but he _had_ given her his penname, which made her giggle—well, at least _that_ had been real. It had made him smile in return, a bit of color going to his cheeks; he had always loved her laugh. It wasn't the fairy-like chiming romantic people described in books for their heroines. Teddy's laugh was a pitch or so lower than her actual voice and was often accompanied with a snort or almost wheeze-like breathing. It was the kind of laughter that carried and brought amused smiles just from the mere sound of it.

Teddy played with the wrapper of the honey-nut bar she had already finished, not meeting the writer's eyes. "Um… I guess I'm just still a little stunned, I guess."

"About—"

"Everything," she interrupted a bit too hastily. Lips closed tightly, she ran her tongue over her teeth and swallowed, the sweet taste still clinging to the inside of her mouth. "You, the magazine, and… how… I mean…" She swallowed again rubbed the side of her nose, by the tear duct of her right eye. "Why…?"

"Why'd I come here?" This time, it was Spencer's turn to give a forced chuckle as he looked away from her face. She probably thought he was stalking her—an ex who couldn't let go. That was _far_ from the truth, of course. Spencer knew what it was like to be stalked and would never do that. Some called it "admiring from afar", but that was still stalking in Spencer's book.

In truth, he had come to this exhibit because Blue had called. The mysterious man had asked him to come the Smithsonian, saying that he had some information pertaining to another plan of the Giltebreks—the "backup plan" evidentially. It had seemed odd to Spencer; Blue usually liked meeting in parks or restaurants. Why a museum this time? His instructions on finding him had been even weirder:

"I've been anxious, so I'll likely be moving around. Search either the art or ancient culture exhibits." He had then hung up, and Spencer had groaned. He had started with the ancient culture exhibits, but the man's usual coat, hat, and sunglasses were nowhere to be found. It had been over an hour before he spotted Teddy. Spencer's brain had screamed at him to keep walking. This was work, and he and Teddy were over.

They had both agreed that it would have been much better to have the relationship broken up completely. It had been very hard on Spencer to even suggest, but he knew that long-distance relationships were very hard to keep up with. They had also broken through most expectations staying together as long as they did, and Spencer had had a fear planted in his mind that it would have just ended badly at some point. After all, he was going to college in Washington D.C., and Teddy had decided to go on a volunteer mission to Peru before studying in Denver. Teddy had always been so lively, always smiling and able to brush off even the most embarrassing of moments (a skill she had probably mastered with the antics of her and her family).

Spencer, however, was on a different end of the spectrum. He didn't necessarily have stage fright, but he only liked to get up in front of people when he was absolutely sure he wouldn't embarrass himself. He was more introverted, and his smiles were usually just small quirks of the mouth as to not get noticed. He may not have been insecure, but being an only child with parents that had cherished obedience and silence had taught him to be quiet and more of an inside-the-lines sort of person. Teddy had preferred to splatter her paint onto the canvas and surrounding walls, all the while swaying her hips as she hummed some upbeat tune.

A firework like that would have eventually gotten bored with a flickering candlelight. Spencer had told himself over and over that Teddy would have found another firework—someone that could soar as high as she could and explode in love for her he wasn't afraid to show the world. Spencer's affections had been much quieter. He'd place an arm around her and smile, getting lost in her eyes, the shade of freshly-brewed espresso. They could spark up at any moment without warning, warming his own heart. He'd send her texts, wishing her a good day or good night. He'd try to make her laugh, even though it was almost always the other way around.

So why did he go up to her? He had watched her admiring the paintings for about five minutes, debating with himself. They agreed that it would have been too difficult to still be friends. Watching her, Spencer knew they were right. Still, his feet moved as his mind screamed at him to walk away and find Blue. Then, they had started talking, and it was too late.

She wasn't running away, though. Was that a good sign? Spencer's smile was awkward as he continued, "I was looking for an informant for my next article. He called me about an hour-and-a-half ago, saying he had more information for me." Spencer gave another look around the exhibit while still sitting on the bench. "I don't see him, though. I wonder if he decided not to come… it's not like him, though."

Where was Blue? Did he care anymore?

Of course he did. Just chatting with Teddy was beyond awkward right now. Neither one could look the other in the eye for an extended time, and Spencer felt that she was probably trying to find a reason to leave.

"He usually shows up on time?" Teddy found it suspicious that Spencer would be meeting an informant _here_, _now_. And, all of a sudden, he _didn't show up_? It wasn't like Spencer to be following her, but Teddy wasn't a big believer in coincidences.

Eyes flickering up to Teddy's briefly, Spencer responded, "Actually, he's usually early. Also, he usually likes to meet at restaurants or parks, and he didn't really give me a specific place to meet like usual. He just told me to look around the ancient culture and art exhibits. I actually looked around for over an hour." He chuckled nervously at the last statement.

_Weird,_ thought Teddy. _I was exploring mainly ancient civilization and culture as well as art exhibits for almost three hours before you came up to me._ Her eyes flickered towards his for a fraction of a second. He looked truthful. He really _was_ looking for this person, but Teddy still didn't believe in coincidences. "Would it be bad to ask his name?" He had explained before that he liked to keep their privacy and only used their names in his articles if they allowed it.

"Not bad, really." Spencer ran a hand through his hair, bringing up the bangs a moment before they fell back over his forehead. "I actually don't know his name. I call him 'Blue' actually."

"Blue." Ah, the mysterious person he spoke of briefly earlier.

"Yeah, he sometimes talked about his wife, whom he sometimes referred to as 'Red'. Lame, huh?"

Teddy fell silent, and Spencer stopped smiling. What was going on with her? He couldn't have insulted her in some way, could he? Now, how could he? Was there something going on?

_Of course there is, you idiot_. Spencer nearly kicked himself. The poor woman's sister was missing, and Spencer hadn't shown any concern whatsoever. All he had been able to think about was talking to Teddy. Why? He didn't want another relationship. He had missed Teddy, yes, but he had moved on. She must have moved on, too. So why keep speaking to her? Swallowing, he inquired, "I'm sorry, Teddy. I shouldn't be talking about myself when—"

"It's fine," she said quickly, silencing Spencer. She must have learned to pick up on subtle over the years.

It was odd hearing Teddy's voice in that tone. It was cold and sharp—the opposite of the Teddy Spencer had known. Where had _that_ girl gone? How could she have possibly morphed into a woman that held an expressionless face and guarded stance that made it look as if she were ready to leap up and run at any moment? Emotion would flicker across her eyes every now and then, but, for the most part, she remained blank. It reminded Spencer of Krystle. Teddy wasn't crazy, though. She couldn't be.

"_She's not crazy, you know."_

Mr. Florez's words crashed through his head with strength most never realized words possessed. Immediately, Spencer remembered that Kyrstle had once had a sister—Boudicca. He still didn't know what had happened to her, but he could imagine that it was something more horrible than he could ever imagine. What specifically did Teddy mean by "fine"?

Spencer was reminded of a short story he read in AP Lit in his senior year in high school. The story had been Hemingway's "Hills like White Elephants." At the end, the girl—called "Jig" by the American—had only said she was fine.

"'_I feel fine,' she said. 'There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine.'"_

The subject matter the characters had spoken of was much different than what was at hand, but Spencer could recall his teacher talking about how people would often say that everything was fine even though they may feel like they are dying inside. Was it possible that Teddy was feeling that way? She had to. Why else would she look like she could run at any moment? Why else would it look like she had tried to make herself as rigid as possible? Hadn't Teddy been the one to tell him, all those years ago, that it was the rigid that broke first? Spencer couldn't picture a broken Teddy—he didn't want to. He could barely label the woman sitting before him as the ever-smiling girl he once knew.

Whatever it was that was going on, however, Spencer couldn't just sit there like an idiot. "Te—"

"Did he ever describe his wife?" She spoke just as quickly as last time, but her voice wasn't nearly as cold, and the sharpness had become like a feather lost in the wind. She still didn't make eye contact, but her eyes seemed to be glazed over in the way they usually did when she was thinking deeply about something. The small wrinkle between her eyebrows as she thought, and Spencer could see a glimmer of the old Teddy.

It took a moment for Spencer to register who she was talking about. As soon as he realized it, however, he was quick to respond. "Um, yeah, but not in any real detail. He only said they had two kids—no names, not even genders. He also said his wife could have a bit of a temper and loved to read—romances I believe. I think he also said she sometimes referred to herself as—"

"'The scheming rebel,'" Teddy finished, fingers gripping the edge of the bench to where her knuckles were white. Her lips were parted slightly, and it looked like she was trying to calm herself.

Spencer was about to ask if she was alright when she stood up abruptly, every muscle in her body stiff. "I have to go." Her voice was barely audible with the echoes of others bouncing off of the walls, and she spun on her heel and sped away before Spencer could even analyze what had just happened.

**XXX**

Jo could only stare at him, sitting as far away as possible on the couch. Her bottom lip gave the most subtle of quivers, and her eyes looked almost looked glassy, cheeks flushed. Gabe could only sit there, silent, as he waited for his girlfriend's response. She had been combing through her hair with her fingers through most of Gabe's explanation, and some of her locks now fell over her face, shadowing her eyes and casting shadows that marred her beautiful face. Her eyebrows dipped down towards each other, casting darker shadows over those brown orbs, and her nostrils flared as she breathed. Her muscles were tense, and her hands were fists in her lap.

That posture screamed at Gabe, "Who the hell are you?"

Finally, Gabe was about to speak when Jo got up and punched him under the chin with an uppercut, causing him to stumble back a few steps.

"You_ fucking _bastard!" Tears had begun to spring from her eyes, and her jaw was clenched as if she were trying to stop herself from crying. Her bottom lip still quivered, and her fists were shaking at her side. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and she flushed, looking like it took all of her self-discipline to not tear Gabe limb from limb. "You've been lying to me _and_ your family for _two years_! How _could_ you?"

Gabe quickly got to his feet and caught Jo by the wrist when she made the move to punch him again. "Jo—"

"Don't you touch me!" She made another move to punch him in the gut, but he caught her fist in his palm. Her anger was getting in the way of her skill. "Get your _fucking_ hands off of me!" She tried to pull away, but Gabe refused to let go. She tried to kick him in the crotch, but Gabe was able to block her with his knee at the last moment, his eyes locked on hers.

"Jo, please listen to me." His dark brown eyes were pleading with hers. This couldn't happen. He wouldn't let it.

"Why?" The shadows playing across her face filled it with malice. "So you can keep saying those damn lies?" More tears left her eyes, and her hands shook in Gabe's. They stayed silent like that for a moment before Jo made a blow worse than any punch or kick she could have given him: "I hate you."

Her tone was flat; her voice was cold. Knives crafted from the coldest ice flew from her eyes, and Gabe could almost feel his heart freezing over.

"You hate what I've done." Now it was Gabe's voice that quivered.

He had already had his dad walk out on him. He couldn't have Jo leave as well. He needed her to be there for him. He needed her to be his rock. He needed her… He couldn't allow the last physical connection to his sanity and morality leave him in the ever-consuming darkness. Jo may have a temper, but she had a strict definition of right and wrong. Gabe needed that. He had been living in the grey far too long. He needed someone that only saw black and white.

He needed Jo.

Again, she tried to get out of his grip, but Gabe held her tightly, wanting her to talk to him—_understand _him.

"It's our actions that make us who we are," she finally said, breaking eye contact. It made Gabe's freezing heart skip a beat.

_She can't look at me_. "So are our intentions."

Her response was quicker this time. "Only in the beginning." Still, she wouldn't make eye contact. "Then it's how you act on it that says the rest." She paused for a bit. "You could have done something else."

"I was trying to protect you." Gabe couldn't let her slip away. "All of you."

"By lying to us? About _that_? That's not protection! That's taking the coward's way out!"

"Don't you think I know that?"

"So why the hell did you wait so long to finally say something!"

"I didn't know how okay? I've been trying to avoid this fight!" Now it was Gabe coming close to tears. "I can't lose you. Not after everything."

"You didn't lose me."

There was that tone again as she looked back into his eyes. The tears kept spilling over those flushed cheeks, burning trails into her skin. Finally, Gabe let go of her. There was no changing her mind, no matter what. Tears built up in his eyes as she slowly turned and staggered towards the door. When her hand grasped the brass knob, her whole arm shook, and she just stood there for some time. Her jagged breathing let Gabe know she was sobbing. Not just tears—full-on sobbing. She was betrayed and devastated. Jo hated lies, and the ones Gabe had been keeping were those on a scale she just couldn't bear. Jo had dealt with horrible lies in her childhood. The one thing she had made absolutely clear to Gabe when they had started dating was that they would always be completely honest, no matter how much it may hurt.

"You didn't lose me," she said again, softer this time. It was worse than her being angry, or even her arctic stare. This was the tone of someone just giving up—_quitting_. "You threw me away."

With that, she left, not even bothering to slam the door.

**XXX**

"_Ils ressemblent à des bas prix charmes bois_," Charlie muttered, looking at the three wooden charms that were only slightly smaller than her palm.

The ash wood had been carved into the shape of _iota_, which was the symbol for ten in Greek. The cherry wood was carved into the shape of an eight-pointed star, and the elder wood was carved into what Ekon had called a "cornicello." It looked like a slightly curved pepper to Charlie, but the father of two had said that it was a small horn for protection—traditionally against the Evil Eye.

"Excuse me?" Sierra turned from her cleaning to shoot a glare in Charlie's direction. "What'd I tell you in the Louvre?"

Why couldn't she be like most people and assume that everything said in French was good? "I… I just don't really get how these are going to help. Shouldn't we be putting more work into figuring out how I'm going to get into Area Fifty-one in the _first_ place?"

"You?" This was said by both Sierra and Scarlett, who raised their eyebrows. Their combined tone held another message: "Were you smoking something when we weren't looking?"

From the shock of the sisters' piecing gazes and harsh, surprised tone, Charlie stuttered before replying, "It was _my_ idea!"

"_That's_ your argument?" Scarlett crossed her arms and cocked a hip.

"You're _fourteen_, Charlie," Sierra continued onto her sister's exclamation. "One: It's way too dangerous for you. Two: Your sister would _kill_ us; we're still on thin ice with her. Three: It'd be too conspicuous having a teenage girl running around that place. Four: You can't write about it if you're _dead_." She'd been counting off the fingers of her right hand, starting with her thumb and leaving her pinky still bent over her palm before she made another fist and pressed it against the edge of the counter. "An adult is going. End of discussion."

They turned around once more, and Scarlett murmured, "Who knew you could sound so much like Mom?"

"Tell her and I kill you," Sierra said back, laughter intertwined with her voice.

"_Hello_?" Charlie couldn't believe this. She couldn't go? It was _her_ idea! _She _was the one that wanted to fight! _She _was the one that talked them into it! It was the very fact that she couldn't stand just sitting back and writing that she _came up_ with this plan! And now they just wanted her to take whatever information _they_ got and just _write_ about it? Charlie didn't want to just stand by anymore. She wanted to _fight_.

Sierra exhaled sharply. "If you're gonna yell at me, take a number. There's still people from _elementary_ school waiting in line."

"I don't want to just _wait here_ while—"

"One of us throws ourselves into grave danger with a very high chance of being discovered before even stepping foot on the plane," finished Sierra in a monotone as she placed the stones into a cabinet next to the refrigerator. The top two shelves in the cabinet held candles of all colors as well as a few boxes of beeswax cubes. The shelf below held various vials of oils and some incense with three different holders, and the bottom shelf held different stones.

"Then why—"

"For the other five-percent," answered Scarlett.

"Can't I finish at least _one_ sentence?"

"Why," asked Sierra, "when it's more fun to read your mind?"

"I'm serious." Charlie stepped away from the kitchen island. "I should go!"

"We're serious too." Scarlett plugged back in the microwave. "Now, Sierra gave her reasons—which I agree with full-heartedly—for wanting you to stay here. What exactly are your reasons for 'needing' to go?"

"First, I came up with the plan—"

Sierra scoffed, earning herself a smack upside the head from Scarlett.

Clearing her throat, Charlie continued, "I just can't stay here and do nothing. This is my fight too!"

"Which is why," Sierra sounded annoyed, "you're staying here to take all the information gathered from the facility and use it to write another series of articles for your blog. We'll send all the articles to friends around the world so they can be posted. And you'll like this—"

"No I don't!" Charlie felt tears of frustration prickling at her eyes. From her shout, Sierra finally turned to look at her, leaning up against the counter. Once Scarlett had thrown away the burnt incense sticks, she turned to look at her too. Hugging herself around the waist, Charlie leaned against the island. "I need to do something other than just stand on the sidelines. I can't let anyone just throw themselves out in front of me. I have to _do_ something."

"You _are_ doing something," Scarlett urged. "Just because it doesn't seem like much, doesn't mean it's _nothing_. Throwing ourselves out there to protect you is in our job description. That's why they call us 'protectors'. We _protect_."

"Well, maybe I don't want to be _just_ a writer anymore." A few tears escaped from her eyes.

"_Just_ a writer," Sierra scoffed. "Charlie, you're in enough danger as it is. You have more guts than you think you do. You were only twelve when you started writing your blog. You were only twelve when you turned down that money, knowing it could mean putting yourself in danger. You were only twelve when you ran away from home. You're not just a writer, Charlie. You're one of the smartest and bravest kids I've ever known, but that's just what you are—a _kid_."

"I'm not a kid anymore!" Charlie wailed. "I've been shot at; I've been around the world; I've escaped death more in these past two years than anyone in a _lifetime_. Let me—"

"Absolutely _not_!" Sierra shrieked. Her arms shook as she held onto the edge of the counter, and her knuckles were turning white. "I know you've been through a lot, Charlie, but this is just too much! Like in the jungle—" She stopped herself suddenly, looking down.

Suddenly, Scarlett's eyes went from Charlie to her sister. "What happened in the jungle?"

Breathing deeply, Charlie looked away. The images kept flying back. The man creeping through the brush. The muzzle flashes. The man lying dead on the ground, two gunshot wounds marking his once-towering body. Charlie could see his lifeless eyes and slightly open mouth. She could see the blood trickling from between his eyebrows and down his collar bone. Charlie's heart thundered within her chest as she thought about it, and her breathing began to break as the tears spilled. Since that moment, she had been keeping the memory locked away. She couldn't stand having it in her head. Why did Sierra have to bring it up again? What the hell did that have to do with this?

Ignoring Scarlett's question, Sierra asked Charlie, "Do you know how old I was when I first shot someone?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Sixteen. The only difference with you and me is that my shot was the fatal shot. Since I was thirteen, my mom took me to shooting practice. I had great aim, and I shot a man that had found out where my mom had run away to. It was in the side of the head, just above the ear. He died instantly, and the splatter had gone over the floor and across my mom's face. Scarlett had been at soccer practice at the time."

Now, Scarlett looked down. "Sierra…"

She was ignored, and Charlie looked up at Sierra, who was a shade paler than usual. "Do you know what I felt afterwards? After I watched a man die? At _my_ hand?" This time, she paused, but when Charlie said nothing, Sierra continued. "Nothing. No guilt, no regret. I _still_ don't. To this day, I don't feel guilt from taking a human life."

Charlie's heart pounded so hard, she thought she heard the echo reverberating throughout the room. "B-but… y-you we-re j-just pro… tect…" She couldn't speak. She couldn't look Sierra in the eye. Her statements had been definite, cold, and absolute. She could hear the truth in them; there was no mistaking it. She had always known Sierra could be cold and distant, but… unable to feel guilt for _killing_ another being?

"It doesn't matter." Sierra _sounded_ remorseful now, but Charlie wondered if it was just because she was regretting actually telling this to her. "People are supposed to feel guilty about that sort of thing despite the reasoning. Thing is, I forced myself to harden when I was sixteen. I wouldn't _let_ myself feel guilty. Anytime something came along to remind me about…," She swallowed, "that night, I'd force myself to think of something else." Furiously, she wiped her eyes and took some deep, jerky breaths. "I don't want you to turn into me, Charlie. Seeing you these past two years, I've seen you become too much like me already. Have you cried about him, Charlie? I saw the look on your face as you stared at him, probably wondering which bullet hole was yours."

The young blonde's voice was shaky. "I didn't want to cry about it." In her mind, she added, _I'm not sure if I'd be able to stop_.

After some time, Sierra gave a nod. "You're a brave girl, Charlie, but you have a while to go before you find true strength. That's why neither one of us is the one to go."

_Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer  
><em>_Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.  
><em>'_Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee  
><em>_Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!  
><em>_Quaff, of quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'  
><em>_Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'_

_- "The Raven" (stanza 14) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	29. Neptune's Ocean and Arabian Perfume

_**The joke Scarlett makes at Seán's expense is dedicated to my friends from People to People. One of my friends had made this joke while we ate lunch, waiting for the plane that would take us to Rome. Well, enjoy the chapter! :)**_

"_If you don't care for obscenity, you don't care for the truth; if you don't care for the truth, watch how you vote. Send guys to war, they come home talking dirty." - from The Things They Carried_

The porcelain mug with the cerulean rim and handle was in Amy's tight grip as she sat at the table, staring into space. A fading sting clung to her reddened palms and fingers, the chamomile-and-mint tea now only room-temperature. There was a trickle of amber coming from the bag of crushed herbs, attempting to make the liquid darker in color. The mug was still three-fourths filled with the tea, and Amy's stomach seemed to be trying to get rid of the bit she had managed to swallow. It felt like there was a large stone in her throat, slowly turning into lead, and her eyes still burned from the unending torrent of tears. After about a week, it seemed that the tears have finally run out, but it only made the blonde woman with reddened eyes feel worse. The stinging feel of salty tears leaving eyes and the warmth of the trails was like a release of her broken heart finding a new way to break all over again. Without the tears, there was no release. Everything was trapped inside her chest, threatening to make her explode.

Both sons had eventually learned to leave her alone. It was better that way. The last time PJ had tried to comfort her, Amy's mood had quickly swung into rage, causing her to heave her mug of hot coffee at him. Luckily, he had ducked, but he had been the one to clean it all up as Amy stormed to her room. The slam of her door had reverberated throughout the house, and she had just simply cried and punched pillows, furniture, and walls for the rest of the night.

There were no tears, but Amy figured she could try physical activity—conditional work from her hockey days, the equipment upstairs in the boys' old bedroom, maybe. Only, the blue-eyed woman couldn't find the energy to even get up. She hadn't even been able to move her hands from the mug, though the heated porcelain had scalded her soft palms. Physical pain had been numbed out by her brain days ago; nothing was compared to the torture going on inside. Was this how those cutters had felt? Could that be a possible release?

_No_, Amy told herself, even her thoughts coming out in monotones. _I'm not that weak. Bob will come back. He has to come back. He'd never leave me._

For the next thirty minutes, Amy just sat in that chair, telling herself over and over that Bob would be back—that he'd forgive her and couldn't stay angry forever. Yet, she couldn't believe herself. She remembered how her mom used to punish her for lying by making her sit in the corner for five minutes as a kid. At the time, those five minutes felt like five lifetimes. Her mother used to tell her that if she kept lying, no one would believe her anymore. As Amy grew older, she learned that everything was more complicated than the black-and-white absolutes her mother had taught, but Amy liked those lessons better than real life. Amy had told the worst of lies, stretched them out, and lived them for two years. Now, even _she_ wasn't sure if she could believe her. Now, what did that leave her with? What was a person left with when even he or she couldn't believe him- or herself?

_Nothing,_ she thought, blinking slowly. _Absolutely nothing_.

"Mom?" PJ's tone was gentle, eyes wary. His back foot was still touching the wooden floor of the living room as he propped the swinging door open, looking like he wasn't sure whether or not this was a safe environment.

Blinking again, harder this time, Amy gave a shallow, shuddering nod to let him know she was listening as her windpipe seemed to constrict. Her head flinched to one side, almost violently, and she gasped down a breath before her throat constricted once more. Her head then flinched to the other side, and her gasp was louder this time, calling PJ to her side.

"Mom!" He bent down to grab her face and tilt her head back, holding it steady. He met her eyes, his full of fear and worry, lips parted slightly. He breathed through his mouth, chest heaving as if not getting enough oxygen. "Breathe, Mom. It's okay."

Sweet air filled Amy's lungs, but she immediately pushed her son away, knocking over her tea. Amber liquid spilled over the wood, and the chair fell over as she stood up, having to look up to meet PJ's eyes.

"Don't tell me it's okay!" she shrieked, almost pleading. "It's not okay!"

At that, realization hit, and she began to sink to the ground, gaze going distant as one hand shot out to grab onto the table, surface slippery with cooled tea. PJ bent down quickly to catch her, and Amy didn't fight this time, her words directed at no one.

"He's not coming back. He'll never be able to forgive me… Why should he? Charlie's gone. Teddy's gone. Bob's gone." The stinging sensation came back, but no tears surfaced. For what seemed like the longest time, she just kneeled there, staring at nothing. Finally, her eyes flickered up into her son's. "Why haven't you left? I…" Once again, her throat constricted, and her chest tightened. She wasn't able to finish.

"I'm not leaving." This was the first definite statement he had said in days. "Dad will come back." This statement wasn't as sure. "I promise."

Amy shook her head vigorously. "D-Don't promise." Her head was tilted down now. "D-don't li-ie…" She took in deep breaths through her mouth. "I've…" She swallowed. "I've lied enough… for all of us." Her face contorted in agony, cheeks flushing. "I can't take this anymore…"

It killed Amy acting this way in front of one of her children. Parents were supposed to seem strong—superhuman. She remembered when PJ was little, thinking that she and Bob were secretly superheroes. He used to think that he only had to take naps because that was when his parents changed into their costumes to go save the world. Amy remembered those pictures he had drawn at the age of three: Bob was Birdman with a blue-and-black suit with huge wings to fly and a mask making a hooked beak over his nose and mouth; Amy was Wolfwoman with a red-and-purple outfit with grey wolf ears and tail as well as feet that resembled paws. The pictures were kept in one of the scrapbooks Amy and Bob had kept of the kids, and Amy almost smiled at the memory before remembering that Bob used to even tell PJ stories about Birdman and Wolfwoman at bedtime.

"Come on, Mom." As PJ pulled Amy up to her feet, she was stirred from her thoughts, making her dizzy as she tried to remember where she was and what time it was.

She hadn't been able to keep up with time lately. It all meshed together; minutes, hours, and days no longer held meaning. The only reason she knew how long Bob had been gone was because she had heard PJ say it over the phone to Jennifer—he hadn't left the house since it happened. Amy avoided calendars, and she had thrown the clock in her room against the wall over and over again until it finally broke beyond repair. She didn't need those simplistic, man-made items that tried (and failed) to contain the omnipotent time. It couldn't be trapped within these contraptions, but it held enough kindness and humor to allow humans to believe in their own illusion.

Grunting, PJ pulled on his mother's bicep, the fabric of her light blue sleeves wrinkling under his grip. "Mom, I'm going to take you to bed." He looked concerned, yet he held an expression showing that he was unsure on what to do. "I'll clean the table and make dinner. Gabe called earlier. He said he'll be here in about an hour."

"Gabe?" Amy stopped moving, nearly a foot away from the kitchen door. "Where's Gabe?" She began to look around. "Gabe?" she called out. "Gabe!" PJ went to her front, grabbing onto her shoulders. He began to speak to her, but Amy couldn't understand—it sounded like just a jumble of sounds mixed in with all the other noises that filled the house. "Gabe, you can't leave!" She kept looking around, eyes wide, almost fearful. "You're in this too!"

"Mom!" The concern in PJ's eyes had morphed into fear. He had no idea what to do. This couldn't be the end of his family. "Mom!" His voice was louder the second time, making Amy finally look back at him. "Mom, he left last night to talk to Jo. He's coming back. Mom, please come on. I'll take care of everything."

Shaking lightly, Amy snapped back to reality and allowed her eldest child to lead her to bed. She never thought she would have needed her children to take care of her. It's supposed to be the other way around.

"I'm so sorry, PJ," she whispered.

Upon reaching her bed, she lowered herself slowly to avoid just collapsing onto the mattress and mound of blankets and pillows. Lately, she hadn't been able to get warm enough. She was wearing long sleeves and pants despite the eighty-something-degree temperature, and she had turned off the AC (PJ kept turning off the heater), making her sons open the upstairs windows every day. She slept with many blankets at night and had used all the pillows she could find to create a wall between her side and Bob's side. She didn't want to look over and see he wasn't there. She already knew it. She didn't need to see it too.

PJ knelt by the bed, looking at a loss for what to do for his mother. "I'm fine, Mom. Just rest. I'll do my best to take care of it." He swallowed. "Have you eaten at all today? What about something to drink?"

Lip trembling, Amy answered, "I had some tea."

"Nothing else?" The worried expression returned.

"I'm not hungry." Her eyelids grew heavy, and she felt the pull of sleep. Her mind often slipped away from reality nowadays, and she allowed it. She simply couldn't bear to stay in this world anymore. The only reason she stayed was hope, but even that was running low fast.

**XXX**

"Here's Charlie's improved laptop." Seán placed the portable computer onto the dining room table, near the candlestick closest to the window. "Ekon was able to get the new chip from the base. It's available to civilians now, so he didn't have to steal it, but no one so far has been able to hack into it."

"Encryption-type-thing, right?" Sierra was completely lost when it came to computers, except for turning them on and surfing the web.

Nodding, Seán sat down beside her on the couch. "Yeah, so tell Charlie she better remember her password. Usually, you can get a locksmith program to get into your computer if you forget your password. Basically, if you have physical access to the computer, you can get into it. That's not true with this one, since it has an encryption chip in the hard drive, and…" He caught his wife gazing at the painting hanging by the entrance to the kitchen. "You don't care, do you?"

Chuckling, that little wrinkle appeared between Sierra's brows. Seán knew that to show her realizing she's been caught in something, no matter how miniscule. To everyone else, the brunette was a stronghold with stone walls forty-feet thick. Her hard life had made her cold… cynical, almost. He remembered her telling him some people had even suspected her of being a psychopath. Seán didn't believe any of it. No one just hasn't been able to—or take the time to—look closer. Her body language was different from most others, as if her brain had actually been wired differently than everyone else's. That wrinkle pointed towards guilt—even guilt at not being interested in what her husband was speaking of. Her right pinky fidgeting when her arms are crossed means she's worried, and when her arms are uncrossed, the fidgeting pinky points towards anticipation. Drumming fingers shows she wants to do something but is holding herself back (for whatever reason).

Seán was always doing his best to read her; it had been nearly impossible at first. During their second date, when she had only looked at him through the corner of her eye, smiling nervously occasionally, he had thought she wanted to kiss him. Instead, she had wanted to leave but was being too polite to do so. It had been an awful surprise for him when she gave him a right hook into the jaw when he leaned forward towards her mouth. Since then, he'd been trying to figure out what she was really thinking rather than the "signals" he thought he understood.

"It's a good thing Ekon's at Fort Meade," Sierra laughed, trying to change the subject. Her eyes flickered once to meet Seán's before going back to the oil painting, which had been done by her mother's friend. "It shouldn't be long before—" She stopped when the door swung open, a corner of her mouth coming up, making her look almost mischievous. "Dun, dun, dun," she whispered, lips near Seán's ear.

The blond man smiled as the door slammed shut as Teddy groaned loudly, dropping her backpack with malice. He waited, arm over his wife's shoulders as the brown-eyed woman stormed into the room, freshly plucked eyebrows knitted together in fury. Her spine was rigid, her hands were fists by her side, her lips were pursed, cheeks flushed, and her nostrils flared slightly. It was obvious she had never had much practice in altering body language to conceal a thought or feeling—that or she just didn't care at the moment. Her silent language was clear to read, which had helped out Seán when getting to know her (it made it easier to know when to leave the room to avoid crossfire).

"Where the hell is he?" Her voice was louder than needed as well as terse. She probably suspected them for being in on Ekon's plot, but the American Melting Pot Poster Boy was most likely first on the blonde's list for torture.

"Work," Sierra replied, making herself look friendly, leaning into Seán, shoulders down, and hand toying with her locket, which hung on a silver chain over her heart. The woman may not portray body language that translated the same as everyone else's, but she had long-ago memorized the dictionary and often used that knowledge to her advantage. "He'll be back in two hours. The house is soundproof, so you can kill him then. Just keep it away from the doors and windows."

Shaking his head, Seán tucked some of Sierra's thick curls behind her sharply pointed ear, only to have more curls move forward to cover it again. She looked over at him, freckles bringing out the color of her eyes. She seemed to be telling him, "Nice try."

"I _tried_ to tell Ekon that matchmaking was women's work," he said to Teddy, meeting her eyes in a sidelong glance, smiling as he brought his wife onto his lap as he sat on one of the high-backed chairs. Things were going to get very serious very soon. He didn't want to see someone about to enter this war frowning. Besides, it didn't suit her. She seemed more like the person made to smile.

Now, Sierra raised her eyebrows slightly, but Teddy called his attention, growling, "This isn't funny. Now, _why the hell_ would he send my ex over to talk to me? For a while, I thought he was stalking me!"

"Um, not to kill your tirade, but Charlie's taking a nap upstairs. I'd like her to keep up the regular naps and make up for the nights we got a maximum of three hours of sleep." Leave it to Sierra to take heat off of someone by mentioning something she'd done. She did it so much, she hardly realized what she was saying until it left her mouth, and by the nail of her index finger going over the petals of the etched rose on the front of the locket before letting the thing go, Seán guessed that was true for this time as well.

Exhaling in exasperation, Teddy went over to the couch across from Sierra and Seán to sit down. She plopped onto the cushion and crossed her legs, arms also crossing over her chest. "I don't want anyone messing with my life." She shot a glance over at Sierra.

"What'd I do?" The little wrinkle between her eyebrows appeared once again, but she pouted slightly as if trying to seem offended at being accused.

Teddy had a don't-you-dare-act-as-if-you-don't-know expression on her face. "Well, how would Ekon even know Spencer's my ex in the _first_ place? Or even his real name? Spencer uses a pseudonym."

The right side of Sierra's mouth lifted up slightly as the finger holding her wedding band crossed over her middle finger. "Fine, I've got a big mouth. Sue me."

"I'd rather kill you," Teddy muttered. Her gaze was even, and she was leaning forward, forearms now on her leg. "I don't need anyone meddling in my life. All of this is hard enough without having to deal with this." One hand went to the side of her forehead, eyes closing as she tried to regulate her breathing. "I came here to help make sure Charlie's safe. I'm trying to go along with what she wants to do, and I see the truth in a lot of this. But…"

"It's dangerous and just one, giant headache," Sierra finished, shifting her weight on Seán's lap. She kept hold of Seán's hand, holding it to her neck. This was easy for the green-eyed man to understand: She was getting ready to hear a story. "That's how I first felt when I met Seán." Her eyes flickered up in a sidelong glance to look up at him briefly. "Wanna tell her the story?"

The Human's tone held annoyance. "Do I wanna _hear_ it?"

"You get to hear how I punched him in the jaw," Sierra said in a singsong voice the right corner of her mouth going up slightly higher than the left as she smiled. She was relating to Teddy's uncertainty, suffering, and feeling of helplessness. Sierra would never openly admit she has ever felt helpless—she was much too proud for that—but she could be read as easily as a book by anyone willing to look closely. Seán couldn't help but smile at his ability and patience to do this.

It seemed that Teddy could not help but smile either, but for an entirely different reason—she seemed curious now to why Sierra would punch a man she liked in the face. "Okay, I'm interested now. What happened?"

The brunette tapped her husband's hand with the tip of her index finger, signaling for him to start. Smiling a little more widely, he allowed his mind to drift back to that beautiful, small town in Kornan. "I was going to the university to study computer programming, and I joined a nearby gym with two of my friends. My third time going there, I spotted a tall, beautiful woman listening to her music-player as she ran on the treadmill…"

**xxx**

"I AM _NOT_ TALKING ABOUT MY SEX LIFE WITH A FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD WITH A PENCHANT FOR EAVESDROPPING UPSTAIRS!"

Now _there_ was an exclamation to wake up to. As she rose from the twin-sized bed, Charlie was sure she heard her sister telling Sierra not to scream so loudly if she was so worried about the "eavesdropping fourteen-year-old" overhearing. A smile quirked the bow-shaped lips of the young blonde as she rubbed her eyes and kicked the parchment-colored comforter off of her. Once her feet found the ground, she was careful to keep her steps quiet as she listened to bits and pieces of the conversation coming from downstairs. Of course, she couldn't hear everything, but what she _was_ able to pick up gave her enough clues to know what they were talking about. It had to do with past romances, present romances, and… farm animals? Did Charlie hear that right? It had sounded like Scarlett had called out in a somewhat familiar tune, "Brown chicken, brown cow!"

Whether or not Charlie had heard it correctly, it was apparently vulgar according to Teddy, who chastised the younger Thompson sister as Sierra burst into laughter. It sounded like Seán was down there too as his rich accent lifted up through the other voices, but Charlie didn't hear Ekon. He was probably still at work.

Blinking rapidly, Charlie looked into the circular vanity mirror set on the horizontal dresser. The dark circles around her eyes were hardly visible now, and color had returned to her sun-kissed cheeks. Back home, her skin had been pale enough to be compared to alabaster, but spending time under the sun working on endurance, stamina, and other exercises had given her the color she had wanted. Somehow, running around the track at home hadn't done the trick, but Charlie wasn't complaining. She began to comb her hair as she smiled at the mirror, feeling the tension in her leg and arm muscles. Once the tangles were out of her hair, she began to start with some simple exercises as quietly as she could. This warmed up her muscles, and she then got to work on stretching them, reaching up over her head and then slowly bending downward until her palms pressed firmly against the cadet blue carpet.

"Will you shut up?" It sounded like Sierra was yelling at something Scarlett had said. Charlie had heard the words "prom," "hooker-dress," and "after party."

Although it wasn't until the fifth grade Charlie had been able to attend a school dance, she and Cory had once overheard Tanya talking about her Senior Prom over the phone. Apparently, most tended to be more humorous than fairytale-like.

Laugher roared from downstairs, and the teenager smirked as she sat down and spread her legs to where she was nearly in a split. She strained her ears to listen as she bent over one leg, her chest pressing against her thigh. As Teddy started talking about Ivy always trying to hook her up, Charlie stretched her other leg before finally deciding to head downstairs. It was entertaining to listen in on the conversation, but she didn't understand half the jokes made (mostly by the Thompson sisters). Also, Charlie was beginning to grow hungry; she could smell spag bol cooking downstairs.

"Good afternoon!" Everyone looked over as Charlie jumped over the railing into the banister before leaping into the foyer and coming into the den.

As Seán waved, Sierra gave a two-fingered salute, while Scarlett greeted her simultaneously with Teddy chastising her for not being careful. Charlie only smiled as she apologized to her sister and went over to sit next to Scarlett, who was in the center of the couch, separating the Duncan sisters. The adults seemed to fall silent for a while, probably wondering how much the teenager had heard. Seán pushed back his hair, and Scarlett just looked at him.

"What?" he finally asked.

Scarlett leaned forward, trying to look genuinely thoughtful, as if trying to figure out what an abstract painting was depicting. "How long have you been gay?"

"What?" This time, it was both Mr. and Mrs. Thompson-Byrne who shouted this, and Scarlett tried her best not to smile for laugh. However, she was unable to keep a corner of her mouth from quirking upwards.

After taking a breath to keep down the laugh just begging to come out, Scarlett explained, "He's the only man in a room of four women. Now Seán, you better not be using my sister. 'Cause you know if you end up breaking your heart, I'll be forced to tear yours out."

She had said it with such a straight face, Charlie couldn't help but laugh despite the confusion of what her guardian was talking about.

Sierra, on the other hand, seemed to catch on as soon as Scarlett finished speaking, her lips stretching into a wide smile. "He's not gay! He's a pimp!"

"Okay, what's this about?" Teddy asked before Seán could.

"Well," replied Scarlett, "when we were in South Carolina, I decided to hang out with Sea's group one morning, my boyfriend in tow. Sea was hanging out with her friends Talia, Leanna, and Elle in the courtyard, trying to finish homework. We were hanging out for a few minutes when Leanna suddenly looked up and seemed to notice my boyfriend for the first time. She then put down her book and said, 'Dude, you're the only guy in a group with five girls. So you only have two choices: You're either a pimp, or you're gay.'"

"Oh my gosh…" Teddy just shook her head, but she was smiling now as well, along with Seán, who just gave his wife a look. Charlie gave a small smile, her mind wandering back to the conversation in the kitchen from that very morning. It was so hard to imagine this chortling woman having such a cold heart. She seemed so warm around them, leaning into her husband's arms and relishing in wonderful memories. How could such a woman not feel any guilt in killing another human being?

As Charlie pushed the thought back, she caught herself. That was what Sierra had done with everything her entire life. She never dealt with anything; she just pushed everything into a tiny, steel box in her head. There was a word for it… compartmentalizing? That sounded right. Only, things were only supposed to be pushed back for the moment and brought back out at a more convenient time. It was hard to find that convenient time in this life, but Charlie knew that she would have to at some point lest the box break free and have its contents move over from her mind to her heart.

She didn't want to become hard. She didn't want to be indifferent to death. She didn't want to be… inhuman. Wasn't that what happened to the Party members in _1984_? Becoming so hard wasn't a price; it was a choice. Charlie didn't want to make that choice.

"Can we go ahead and eat?" Seán inquired. "Your stories are endless, and I can hear Charlie's stomach growling from here."

That didn't necessarily mean Charlie needed to think about things right then, however. If she was going to stay in D. C. while someone else went to Nevada, then she was going to have plenty of time to think all of this over.

Looking over at the youngest in the house, Sierra smiled and got up. "Sure. Everyone here likes spaghetti, right?"

Everyone affirmed and followed the brunette into the kitchen, where Scarlett went to the stove and turned off the heat as her sister got down the black-and-white square-shaped plates. Charlie then went to get the silverware, and Seán got glasses as Teddy cleared the table. It was decided they'd just have Ekon eat what was left when he got home (apparently, Teddy was mad at him, though Charlie didn't have the slightest idea why).

They also decided to wait until Ekon got back before going over the plan for Nevada. It was already decided that the three women would go out to Nevada. Sierra had wanted to stay with Charlie, but they needed someone to stay watch at the safe house and relay information back to Seán and Ekon, who would be manning the computers. It was still being debated whether Teddy or Scarlett would be the one to actually go _inside_ the facility. Scarlett had more experience, but it was more likely they wouldn't suspect Teddy.

It didn't matter all that much to Charlie _who_ went. Both were more than capable of getting in and retrieving the needed information. What she cared about was that she'd have to stay _here_ and just be the writing monkey as the other three go on an adventure. She knew Sierra had had a point this morning though. Charlie would stand out in the facility, and this wasn't just some adventure like what she and her friends had pretended to have as kids. There were so many ways this could go wrong, and it wasn't like this facility was private-owned. It wouldn't be like sneaking into a corporate office to steal accounting records. This facility was owned by the _United States Air Force_.

If caught, someone could end up in military prison or worse. One of the first things mentioned was that trespassers were to be shot. No trial, no chance for explanation. Even worse, one person getting caught could possibly incriminate the others.

Suddenly, the spaghetti bolognaise went sour on Charlie's tongue.

_There are 16 million shades of grey  
><em>_There is no black  
><em>_There is no white  
><em>_You have to draw your own line  
><em>_It may or may not be straight  
><em>_There are always mitigating circumstances  
><em>_Judgement can only be based  
><em>_On passed-down wisdom and self-experience  
><em>_Stopping to take stock  
><em>_Is not an option  
><em>_You can never find yourself  
><em>_You can only conform or differ  
><em>_From each perceived image  
><em>_The cataracts of common sense  
><em>_Can never be removed  
><em>_Focusing on reality's a fallacy  
><em>_- "Truth?" by Gerald England_


	30. The Great Puzzle

"_Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections but instantly set about remedying them - every day begin the task anew." - Saint Francis de Sales_

The rudimentary diagram of the World Weather and Climate Research Center (WWCRC) facility drawn by Immanuil reminded James of one of Calder's drawings, which he had once had to replicate in Art Appreciation. He was able to make out the gate's and building's entrance, and he was able to see how many stories there were as well as a basic idea of how many rooms there were in the first and second story of the west wing. The WWCRC was owned by the US Army, and one of the policies in place to keep security was "the right hand doesn't know what the left is doing."

Immanuil had close friends in the military and a few of the ABC agencies. He was able to find out a basic layout (if one was optimistic enough to call this 'basic') by asking two of his friends, one of whom still worked in the facility. Neither friend would talk about what they actually _did_ in the facility; they only agreed to help him make a diagram and no more. James could understand that, but not really having a good idea where anything was would put them at a major disadvantage.

For the past couple of days, the three had been arguing over who would go in. Krystle already knew she had to stay behind and keep watch of the computers, but she preferred the idea of Immanuil going in, as, according to the government, the Vampire did not exist. Ever since his family first settled in Alaska, none of them would go to the hospital for fear of having their race discovered. Immanuil only had false papers made for him by a friend. If caught, this may be at an advantage.

James, on the other hand, pointed out that Immanuil knew someone who worked in WWCRC. There was too great of a risk of him being discovered. James, though, had experience at breaking into military bases, and he had never gotten caught—never even been identified. Krystle sometimes switched over to his side, but she sometimes had trouble making any definite decisions anyway. She finally had to admit that they both had good reasons for being the one to break in, but they shouldn't keep arguing when they were wasting time. They all then decided to make plans about how someone would actually get _in_ before figuring out who it would be.

"Not too much to work with, is there?" Krystle leaned over, not seeming to realize her strapless top was beginning to slip down her breasts. She wore a cropped denim jacket she's had for years, but she had taken off her pants and revealed her lacy underwear, complaining it was too hot. She never seemed to feel any shame, but more-conservative Immanuil had drawn all the curtains while leaving some of the kitchen and upstairs windows open. James guessed he was afraid that if he didn't make an effort to cool the place down for Krystle, she'd go outside instead.

"I've worked with less." After knowing the maln-grah for about five years, there wasn't much she could do to make him uncomfortable. He had seen her at her worst; everything else was just a slight, sometimes humorous, quirk. "I'm just worried about what could happen if either Immanuil or I were to be caught. It wouldn't be a regular trespassing case."

"Someone could die. We could all be killed if the one caught is found out to be working with a group. They could trace them back to the others." Krystle was never averse to saying what others were thinking but wouldn't say. It wasn't exactly blunt—her soft monotone couldn't be taken as blunt—but truthful.

James only nodded as Immanuil walked into the den, copper hair wet from his recent shower. "This is all we know about this place, then?"

"Unless you're hiding any other information you've stolen from military bases," the Vampire answered curtly. The constant arguing had begun to wear down his patience and nerves. Often, he had to leave for his studio to paint and calm himself.

"_Vampires," scoffed Krystle when Immanuil slammed the door behind him, "always temperamental, and they're all either perverts or artists."_

Sitting back in the couch, James brought one of his folders to him. He had read over much of the information enough times to memorize it word for word. "I just wish there was a little more than knowing some rooms and where the magnetic field research yard is. We could probably see more from a helicopter flying over the damn place."

Trying to avoid touching Krystle, Immanuil went to sit down in the matching chair next to the couch, grabbing one of James's other folders. "Do we have anything on weather control? It wouldn't be in those exact words, of course."

"Of course." James knew that the recluse was trying, and he had to give him credit for that. Immanuil had never been very social, what with living on the outskirts of a tiny town as an only child with just one parent.

Kneeling on the floor to look over the diagrams, Krystle stated, "Climate change and weather patterns they'd want…" She leaned her head back and breathed, trying to get her thoughts back in comprehensible order. It only took a moment before she took a breath and spoke again. "They'd say things along the lines of 'climate change' and 'weather pattern differences'. They'd want to know how they could give rain to places dying from droughts and stop rain in places dying of floods. Evil masked with good intentions."

Her eyes flickered upwards, towards the hallway. "No, I don't think he'll like you going into his studio."

"Tell you imaginary friend to stay away from my paintings or I'll send my imaginary lion after him." Immanuil looked over the next page in the navy folder.

A bark of laughter escaped from James, and he only shook his head as Krystle suddenly looked thoughtful. "What kind of lion? Alec as worked a lion tamer before. He's never been able to attempt to tame a European Cave Lion, though. He may enjoy being able to see one."

Immanuil just shook his head. "Just have him go outside and keep watch."

"Okay." Krystle looked back over to where Alec supposedly was. "Go outside and do a perimeter. Keep watch for anyone coming our way, and let me know immediately." She then looked back down at the papers on the coffee table as if having an imaginary friend stand guard were the most normal thing in the world.

Glancing at the front door as if waiting to see if it would actually open and close, Immanuil stated, "Anything one of us could do to be stealthy wouldn't work. There's bound to be cameras all around the sides, watching people going in and out. It's also safe to assume the same security will be in the hallways, but the individual rooms is a different story. They're not likely to put anything in the room that could risk sensitive information being discovered or taken."

"That means there's most likely security on the doors, so only certain people can get in," James amended, having already figured this out. However, repeating information over and over again usually helps new ideas come out. It was like reading a book more than once—something new the reader hadn't seen before that points towards how things would turn out. "I've never used 'ninja' moves to get inside bases. It's too likely you'll be seen. That's why I just make a fake military ID. It's risky and hard to do, but better than just jumping over a fence or something. Those IDs are also surprisingly simple once you get some of the first steps going and once you figure out to get it to trick the scanner. WWCRC is a different story, though—"

"Carlos wouldn't show me his ID," Immanuil grumbled. "He probably knew already that I was up to something."

"Hermit that can count the number of friends he had his whole life on his hands asking personal questions to one of said friends," said James. "Of course you're up to something. You never have people over unless there's something in it for you."

All Immanuil did in response was glare before looking back at the folder. "Krys, help me out here: What all does the magnetic field have to do with the weather?"

_Here we go…_, thought James as the woman smiled. She loved being able to answer questions about her favorite subject. It made her feel good. Although she had long-accepted her Gift-induced mental instability, she liked it when people asked her serious questions she was expected to answer intelligently.

Twisting around to face the towering Vampire, Krystle explained, "The best theory we have now is that the flow of the Earth's outer core powers the magnetic field—if you saw that movie _The Core_, you've learnt some about it. The magnetic field protects the Earth from solar flares and other cosmic rays, but some do filter through, just like how light and heat filters through the atmosphere. There's a theory stating that the fluctuations in the amounts of cosmic rays hitting the Earth determine the amount of global cloud coverage. Remember all the global warming craziness that's been going on for decades? Well, according to a theory by Svensmark—excuse me for overusing the term 'theory' but our understanding in science is not made up of absolutes—there was less cloud coverage due to fewer cosmic rays making it to the atmosphere, which he said is natural…"

Weather and climate was not an interesting subject for James, and he ended up zoning out, trying to think of a way to get into the building. They had no way of creating a fake ID, and just barging in seemed out of the question. As Krystle moved on to explain how the sun's magnetic field interacted with the Earth's, James got an idea. The corners of his wide mouth began to curve upwards, and he waited until Krystle paused to take a breath.

"Immanuil, do you think there's a lot of cameras in the magnetic field research yard?"

The pale man's eyes flickered away from Krystle to James's electric blue gaze. "I'd think not. The electronics would interfere with the electric field in the towers. It'd be very dangerous, though. There's a great chance of electrocution."

Shrugging, James responded, "Everything about this is dangerous, but now that we've got the entrance settled, we now have a way in. There'll possibly be a scanner or code pad to get inside, but right now we should probably be talking about what to do once inside. What do you think we should do about the cameras in the hallway?"

**XXX**

The overbearing sun seemed to have all its attention on Spencer as he went down Reservoir Road, every step down the sidewalk bringing him closer to the address on the small piece of paper given to him by Blue at the park. The mysterious man had arrived late to the park that morning, and he had only stayed for a minute, apologizing for not showing up at the Smithsonian and saying that he couldn't give him this information out in the open. Right before leaving, he scribbled down the address and told Spencer not to show it to anyone else. He said it would be best if he just committed it to memory and then get rid of the piece of paper. Spencer had done the latter, but he had felt paranoid burning the slip of paper.

Sidestepping a teenager texting as she walked, Spencer thought about where he was heading. He had never been to an informant's home. He didn't know where any of them lived. This felt strange, and Spencer wasn't sure what to expect. What was Blue going to say? What kind of information did he have that he didn't want it said in public? Spencer was still writing his article about weather control, and Blue had already given him some information. Although it wasn't unusual to meet him more than once for one article, going somewhere private was abnormal. How sensitive could this information _be_?

Thinking about it, Spencer realized Blue's behavior had been a bit off lately. First, he had asked to meet in the museum when he usually asked to meet in a park or restaurant, and then today at the park, he didn't wear his duster (though the hat and sunglasses were still in place). Most would think that it was because of the ninety-degree weather, but Spencer had seen him wear the coat when the temperature nearly broke one-hundred. These inconsistencies made the writer begin to worry, and he paused upon reaching the correct townhouse. People walked around him, some grunting, and Spencer took a breath as he gripped the handle of his briefcase. His feet had to be forced to carry him up the concrete steps, and he had to take another few breaths before knocking on the door.

It was a minute before Spencer heard the tumblers in the lock moving into place, and the door opened to reveal Blue. First seeing him, Spencer was stunned, unable to speak or move. Blue wasn't wearing his sunglasses or hat, revealing eyes the shade of hazelnuts and slanted lightly to show an Asian heritage. Tight curls brushed along his forehead, and he moved aside to let Spencer inside the townhouse.

"Come on in." It definitely sounded like Blue, and Spencer nodded in greeting before stepping into the foyer.

The tiles looked newly polished, and as Blue closed the door, Spencer noticed a small painting on the wall next to the doorway leading into the den. The work of art was actually mixed media, mostly just the splattered background composed of red and blue paint. Bits and pieces of what looked like newspaper text created the image of a crinkled world map at a diagonal on one side of the eleven-by-fourteen piece of paper protected by glass and a simple frame. Spencer noticed what looked to be a coffee stain on the map as well as dates. He only recognized a few as significant: 1775, 1812, 1947, 1954, and 2001.

"Like it?" Blue followed Spencer's gaze. "It was done by a woman by the name of Natasha. She's a great artist, though not especially well-known. She's a friend of my wife's mother, though, and she gave us some of her pieces to decorate our homes. That one's called 'Forgetting Mistakes,' though she had said she wanted to call it 'Pain in the Neck' with how much trouble it gave her." The man gave a slight chuckle, and Spencer responded with an uneasy smile as his eyes went from the newspaper-map to the lotus blossom made from old stamps from numerous countries.

As Spencer admired the piece of art, footsteps sounded from upstairs as something fell and a woman swore. The person coming down was another woman, her thin lips pressed tightly together as the tips of her wavy, ash brown hair brushed over her bare, narrow shoulders, which wore scattered, barely noticeable, freckles over the otherwise-lightly bronzed skin. She forced a smile as her large eyes fell on Spencer, looking frazzled and ready to scream at somebody. Yet, she tried to keep her composure as she walked down the carpeted stairs, her hazel-green eyes then sliding over to Blue.

"I thought you were joking," she told him, her accent surprising Spencer. It was a rich, southern belle accent that instantly brought cotton and peaches to his mind. "I thought you were just gonna meet him in the park like you always do."

_This must be Red,_ thought Spencer as he looked away from the black-and-white grenade pasted just below the lotus and partly hidden by the map.

Blue leaned against the doorway as his wife reached the landing. "You don't want her leaving the house right now, and I can't even mention 'cell phones' in your proximity, remember?"

The woman cocked a hip and shot her husband a look. "It's stressful right now. We're set to leave in two days." Her eyes turned back to Spencer, tension easing. "You can go ahead and go to the den. Ekon, she's in the kitchen, typing away. I have to go back to the warzone." She then turned on her heel and hurried up the stairs, going into a sprint when something crashed onto the floor with a heavy **thump**. "IF THAT WAS MY M-FOUR-A-ONE CARBINE, SOMEONE'S GONNA GET _SHOT_!"

"If it was the carbine, someone already _woulda_ got shot!" shouted the woman that had cursed earlier, her accent the same as Red's.

Spencer's eyebrows shot up at that, and he hesitantly followed Blue—Ekon?—into the den. Smiling lightly as if unfazed by the outbursts, he motioned to the tan Buckingham three-seat sofa pushed against the wall. "Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I asked you here because Clarisse is staying for a while."

"Clar—" Spencer didn't get to finish asking, because Ekon suddenly turned and went through the doorway next to another painting—this one looked like it was done by either acrylics or oils—that led into the kitchen.

"Huh?" It sounded like a younger girl. "What the hell are you doing with my laptop? I'm in the middle of typing up an article!"

"Someone's here to see you," answered Ekon, carrying a silver laptop into the den. He went over to the cherry wood coffee table and set it in front of the brown club chair, and he then went to sit down on the two-seat, tan couch opposite of Spencer. He leaned back and pulled up his ankle onto his thigh, looking comfortable, whereas Spencer felt out of place.

"Well, who the hell is—" She stopped a foot past the doorway, eyes wide and hand still up at her crown as if pushing her hair out of her face.

She looked to be in her early to mid-teens, but Spencer knew instantly that she shouldn't be any older than fourteen. Everything about her was so familiar; Spencer already knew exactly who she was. She had her father's grey-green-blue eyes and height; her mother's long lashes, curved eyebrows, and bow-shaped lips; and she resembled her older sister with her large forehead and small chin. Her hair was about the same shade as her eldest brother, and Spencer could picture her smile being slightly lopsided with an I'm-definitely-up-to-something gleam in her eye just like her other brother.

"Charlie?" It was like staring at a ghost, and Spencer hadn't realized he'd been standing until right then. He hadn't seen her since she was about four. If he hadn't met the others in her family, he most likely wouldn't have been able to recognize her. Yet, she seemed to have a bit of everyone mixed into her. Her sloped nose looked like that picture of her great-Aunt Margaret, which Teddy had shown him a picture of at one point in the past.

"Uh, hi…" She seemed at a loss of what she was supposed to call him, but after biting her lip, she finally settled on saying, "Spencer," as she let her hand fall back down to her side. Her eyes flickered towards Ekon, eyebrows raised slightly.

Motioning towards the club chair, Ekon stated, "Go ahead and sit down, Charlie." His eyes went to Spencer's. "You as well. Charlie here should be able to answer your questions."

Spencer began to sit down, but the blonde's eyes were still on Blue. "Wait, _he's_ the writer?"

_Shouldn't I be asking that about her?_ thought Spencer as he attempted to make himself comfortable.

"Yes, he is," the mysterious man answered, motioning to the chair again. After a moment of hesitation, Charlie sat down and tapped the touch pad to wake up her laptop. Ekon's eyes went back to meet Spencer's. "Everyone in this house has something to do with fighting against the Giltebreks. Scarlett and her sister are upstairs now with our guest, discussing our next plan of action. Charlie is our blogger, whose job is to inform the public with her articles full of information others in our group have been able to gather."

The teenager nodded in affirmation. "Everything I know about weather control was in that e-mail I sent you," she informed Spencer, voice shaking somewhat. "I'll know more later, though I don't know how long. Some friends are in the process of getting information right now, but it should take some time. I may have information for another article you need to write later. Would that be okay?

"Um… yeah." Spencer quickly got out two memo pads and a pen from his brief case. In the first memo pad, he flipped to the empty page, which was near the back. "My boss wants my next article to be about biological warfare."

Eyes on her laptop's screen, Charlie took a breath, her hands reaching forward. Her fingers seemed to breeze over the keyboard, and, once at the right place, she leaned back again. "There're three main facilities. Now, during the Cold War, the US, UK, Australia, and Canada created a Basic Standardization Agreement to work together and win the war. It started with the US, UK, and Canada in nineteen-forty-seven, but then Australia joined in nineteen-sixty-three. New Zealand joined the party through the Australians in nineteen-sixty-five and then became a full member in two-thousand-six. There were those working on ways to use chemical warfare against their enemies—namely the USSR during the Cold War. Um… have you ever heard of sarin?"

After writing down the last sentence Charlie had said—she spoke quickly—Spencer looked up and shook his head. "It sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't know what it is, no."

"It's a chemical classified in some UN Resolution as a weapon of mass destruction. It's colorless and odorless, and it attacks the nervous system. It can be absorbed through the skin, and in an army base in England, experiments using sarin were actually conduced on military 'volunteers'"—she used air quotes—"who thought they were helping find a cure for the common cold. Six airmen men were placed into a small room by two technicians, who had them roll up their left sleeves to expose their skin. The technicians then taped some material to their left arms and gave them all respirators. The door was then sealed, and it was then realized that the room was really a gas chamber. The technicians went around the men, dropping twenty drops of a clear liquid—sarin—in two rows on the material on each man's arm. Sarin is quickly absorbed into the skin, and the effects it causes are immediate.

"It's been assessed that sarin is actually five-hundred-times more toxic than cyanide. Initially, the recipient of the chemical would get a runny nose, constriction of the pupils, and tightness in the chest. Difficulty in breathing, nausea, and drooling would soon follow, and the recipient would also be losing control of his or her bodily functions—you know, vomiting, urinating, _et cetera_. Minor muscle spasms would then ensue, leading to convulsive spasms and suffocation." She gave a cough and reached to her laptop again to scroll down on her document. "There's actually been a sarin attack." Her eyes flickered up. "Keeping up? I'm sorry if I'm talking too fast. I can't really help it."

Switching to the empty memo pad when he ran out of room in the other one, Spencer replied, "It's alright. I've had another informant who spoke much faster, and she only paused when she had to take a breath." He saw Charlie smile, and he returned it. He'd been right—her smile _did_ kind of resemble Gabe's.

"Alright. Now, there's actually been a sarin gas attack in Tokyo via the subway in nineteen-ninety-five…"

**xxx**

Although the first ten minutes had only been some history and examples of biological warfare used in covert affairs, the conversation had been fruitful, though it had been obvious Charlie didn't want to say anything about her personal life or her family. According to a couple of earlier meetings with Blue—er, Ekon—Spencer knew she had been bullied by a Giltebrek lackey. She must have run away those two years ago, travelling and gathering information. Spencer couldn't imagine being away from home for so long at that age, and he was really beginning to wonder. It wasn't hard to find the connection between Charlie, Ekon, and the meeting with Teddy at the Smithsonian. Ekon must have set up the meeting there so Spencer would find Teddy instead, but… did that mean Teddy had talked about him? Otherwise, how would Ekon have known his real name?

Shaking Teddy out of his head, the writer walked up towards the door of his townhouse and fished out the keys from his pocket. The sun was getting closer towards the horizon, and the heat had lessened from intolerable to survivable. Spencer wiped the bit of sweat from his hairline as his keys caught the light of the late afternoon sun, the noise of kids being called inside and adults returning from work filling the air.

"Excuse me?"

Hand extended towards the door knob, Spencer turned to face a man that stood on the sidewalk. He came a few steps closer, hands in the pockets of his jeans. The light breeze toyed with his professionally-styled onyx hair, and his coffee-toned skin made his harsh ice-blue eyes seem to glow. "You go by the name Alvis Fadeyka, yes?" He smiled when speaking, but it looked more sinister than kind. There was also a Norwegian accent clinging to his deep voice.

"I—"

"Or would you prefer Spencer Walsh?" One corner of his mouth lifted up another millimeter, and Spencer's brief case fell to his ground as his hand fell back to his side. "You can call me Mathias. I'm well acquainted with your work, Mr. Walsh. You are a writer of excellent quality."

His eyes seemed to be filled with malice, and Spencer began to feel like a small rodent being played with by the large, leering feline that wanted to entertain itself by toying with its prey. His dark shirt with the graphic design and jeans failed to make him look casual and comfortable. His spine was rigid, and he held his head high as if completely confident in his position high above the nobodies running around below.

"Thank you," said Spencer hesitantly. "I'm sorry, but what are you doing here?" He didn't dare ask him if he wanted to come inside.

"Oh, yes, excuse me." He gave a chuckle, giving a flash of pearly teeth. It forced a shiver down Spencer's spine. "A couple of my associates have been watching you, and I would like to set a proposal. My boss is willing to pay you handsomely if you quit your job and forget everything you've learned about the Giltebreks. Otherwise…" His head tilted slightly as his eyes narrowed. "Well, I believe you know what I'm speaking of. You can warn your friend 'Blue' if you like. Trust me, he'll be taken care of soon enough." He straightened up, his smile becoming less sinister, yet no less threatening. "You do not have to choose just yet. I'll be back same time tomorrow."

Without another word, Mathias turned and strolled back down the sidewalk, and Spencer hurriedly unlocked his door and whisked into his townhouse. His briefcase was kicked towards the foot of the stairs, and he relocked the doors, hands shaking so hard, it took three tries to do so. His breathing was quick, shallow, and jagged, and he felt as if his windpipe was refusing to allow the air to reach his lungs. That encounter… it just _couldn't_ have happened, could it? It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

It had to be real.

Why would Mathias (if that was his real name) threaten him otherwise?

Ever since meeting with Ekon, Krystle, Ichiru, and Austin, Spencer had found himself beginning to actually believe this stupid conspiracy theory, and Mr. Yumn had said that the last issue had been their best seller—everyone was just pouring over the Giltebreks story. Before leaving today's interview, Charlie had even said that her blog had lately gotten thousands of more hits lately. According to an earlier interview with Krystle, she had said that their numbers could easily beat the Giltebreks' numbers. The only problem was knowledge. It would take the masses actually rising up to tip the scales into their favor.

"_After all," she said, draining the last of her plum wine, "'if there is hope it lies in the proles.'"_

What was this world coming to? This wasn't some dystopia novel. There was no Big Brother, and Mathias didn't work for the Ministry of Love.

Spencer had no idea what to do, and he ended up stumbling back onto the stairs. He still hadn't blinked, his mind still trying to figure out what belonged in reality. He had to remember who he was, starting with his name and where he was from. He went through every inch of his life, starting with his first memory and going through everything, ignoring the holes and places he couldn't get the sequence straight.

His name was Spencer Amadeus Walsh; he was born in Denver, Colorado; he had gone to South High; he had gone to George Washington University; and he was a writer for _Beyond Our Knowledge_. He went through everything from a skinned knee he got while trying to learn to ride his bike, to trying to act tough on his first day of junior high, to watching Teddy throw a pizza like a diskette at that girl trying to ask him to the dance. He hoped that everything about the Giltebreks would disappear, but they seemed to stand out the strongest, almost seeming to call out to him.

What had happened? He used to be a skeptic, never believing what couldn't be concretely proven. Then, all of a sudden, he let some well-spun words begin to shift his judgment, and now he was forced to come to the worst possibility: _They were right_. How could this be? Out of all the conspiracy theories that had been printed, why did _this_ one have to be Spencer's break? Why did _this_ one have to be the big seller? Why did Spencer have to _believe_ all this was true? Would it matter if he still didn't? Would Mathias care?

Probably not.

But Spencer did. He had always had everything together; it was all in control. Nothing was in his control anymore, and he wasn't sure if anything ever was. It didn't matter anymore, though. It was all going to end now.

Swallowing, Spencer took his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled down his contacts, hands still shaking. "Blue" was the third in the list, and Spencer quickly pressed the call button and brought the phone to his ear, trying to get a hold of himself. How could that meeting scare him this badly? Mathias had looked like a businessman dressed in his Casual Friday attire. Yet, his pale eyes had been piercing, his smile had been sinister and condescending, and the atmosphere surrounding him told of threats he would be more than happy to carry out. He had killed, and he had no worries of ever getting caught. Maybe it _was_ the fact that he had looked so normal that scared him. Normalcy mixed with those dark features… it was the fact that he was completely unsuspecting and could fit in anywhere that made him terrifying.

After two rings, Ekon picked up. "Mr. Fadeyka," he greeted happily, "what can I do for you?"

It did not surprise Spencer that he was using fake names over the phone—hardly anyone he had interviewed trusted phones. "A man by the name of Mathias was just here and threatened me. He wants me to take his boss's money and stop writing about the Giltebreks." It all spilled out of his mouth so quickly, it almost sounded like a single word.

For a long moment, Ekon was silent. Then: "What's your address? I'll be right there."

'_Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -  
><em>_Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,  
><em>_Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -  
><em>_On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -  
><em>_Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'  
><em>_Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'  
><em>_- "The Raven" (stanza 15) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	31. Dancing for Life

"_I would rather be ashes than dust!" - Jack London_

No conversation went between Ekon and his wife as they rode in the back of the black gypsy cab, anxious as they drew nearer towards Spencer's home in Eckington. Scarlett's leg was bouncing, and she kept a firm grip on the duffel bag situated between them. It was Sierra's green one, and inside was one of Seán's crossbows with three of his charmed arrows, and there was also a Mossberg 590 Cruiser and a Colt M1911 (a just-in-case for Spencer).

Ekon had wanted to use the Remington, but Sierra and Scarlett had been forced to sell that in Victoria, and they had sold the Beretta M12 in Paris. It was a loss, but he still felt well-equipped, his Desert Eagle strapped to his hip and his Bersa 380 tucked in his ankle holster. Scarlett had her Beretta 92FS at her hip and Bloody Era strapped to her left calf, beneath her pant leg. She tended to prefer blades to bullets, and Ekon noticed that the leg she was bouncing was the one holding the hunting knife that had allegedly belonged to Erlinda "Era" Keres, who had once been in a Giltebrek experimentation building until she escaped. Scarlett used to say that Bloody Era was lucky—"cursed by Era herself to kill every one of the Giltebrek members."

Looking out the window, Ekon tried to calm himself, staring up at the darkening sky. Dusk used to be one of his favorite times of the day. Now, though, it seemed to only foretell terror. It used to be that was what he liked about it. He had loved the feeling that came with being scared, and he had loved scaring others. He remembered a haunted house in Germany where one of the vampires actually picked him up and threw him into a coffin and then quickly slammed it shut, keeping him in there for ten seconds at the most. He had been about thirteen, and he had tried using all his strength to slam himself up into the door of the polished-wood coffin to get out. However, it had felt like someone was sitting on the top. He could hear the laughter, and he had suddenly felt claustrophobic, actually _feeling_ the sides of the coffin crushing him until the vampire finally got up and allowed him to escape and run off in search of his chuckling father.

There in the cab in the growing darkness made him feel like he was there once again, the metal coming down on top of him, cutting off his air and crushing him until nothing was left. His head pounded in unison with his heart. The rhythmic organ did not gallop or race—the fear was much too ingrained for it to do so. It was a slow and steady **ba-dum**,** ba-dum**,** ba-dum**, like a cross between a bass drum and snare drum.

This time, Ekon knew, he would not be able to laugh with his dad afterwards. It wouldn't be over after just some hallways, rooms, and a "trap door." He wouldn't have the safety of his dad being next to him saying it wasn't real when the monsters came out of the fog, coming towards him. He had Scarlett, but the two of them would be fighting a very real fight. Watching the streetlamps go by, Ekon decided he'd rather go against those zombies, vampires, and ghouls rather than the Giltebreks any day.

"We're here," the driver announced in his Columbian accent. Ekon quickly handed him the bills and got out of the car as Scarlett got the bag. They slammed the doors shut before the driver could make change, hurrying down the sidewalk towards the correct townhouse.

"He would have given him a day to think about it," said Scarlett, keeping pace with her husband. Her eyes were focused, and her thin eyebrows nearly met in the center.

Taking long strides, Ekon looked down the rows of townhouses on each side before pointing to one across the parking lot. "They most likely have his phone tapped, or they've been able to hack into the signal." He hurried towards Spencer's home, Scarlett on his heel. Once at the white door, Ekon knocked loudly. "It's me!"

Loud stomps came from inside, sounding hollow and descending—Spencer was coming down the stairs. With a scowl, Ekon met the brunette's eyes when he opened the door. He wasn't used to houses not being soundproof. It was going to make him feel exposed, like being in a house made of glass.

"Oh, it's good to see you," the writer panted, letting the two in.

He then locked the door, using the lock on the knob, the deadbolt, and the chain. It made Ekon give a slight nod, but he glanced at Scarlett and gave a two-fingered point towards the den. She nodded, set the duffle by the wall angling up with the staircase and got out the crossbow and arrows and then the Colt M1911, handing it to Spencer.

The man's eyes widened. "What?"

"Take it." Ekon could have sworn he heard his dad's voice come out of his mouth with the amount of authority and force put into it. His father had been a sergeant first class before he retired due to medical reasons, and he had always been Ekon's role model as a child.

Looking pale and out of his wits, Spencer obeyed, and Ekon told him to calm down before heading towards the stairs.

"Stay there," the staff sergeant mouthed. He then took out his Desert Eagle and headed up the stairs, noticing that every single one of the lights were on, and every door was opened—even the shower curtain had been pushed back.

Once satisfied that he was the only one upstairs, Ekon holstered his gun and began to search for bugs. He overturned the chairs and beds in the two rooms, he practically took apart the laptop and CD player, and everything in the hallway closet ended up on the floor. There were still no bugs to be found, but Ekon kept searching, moving on to the lighting fixtures and vents, and even the temperature control. He kicked along the wood paneling near the floor, looking for a piece that may be loose, and he also picked at the thick carpet at the corners and edges, trying to see if it would come up and reveal a bug.

Finding nothing, he went to check the staircase, only to find Scarlett standing in a doorway opposite of the staircase—it looked like the kitchen. She was holding up a tiny device, and making the "be quiet" motion towards Spencer, who nodded. She caught Ekon's eye and gave a nod, looking like she was finally reigning in her emotions.

Once down, Ekon tapped Spencer on the shoulder and made a writing motion on the palm of his hand. Spencer nodded quickly and went into the den, setting down his gun—Ekon internally groaned—and getting his brief case. He brought back an empty memo pad and pen, handing it over to the other man. Giving a nod of thanks, Ekon began to scribble down instructions and a script, trying to be quick while still keeping his writing legible. Spencer looked nervous, and once done with the instructions, Ekon showed them to him:

_That's a bug. They've been listening to you. Get the damn gun and come with us into the kitchen. The last thing we want to do is destroy the bug. We're going to try and trick them before we take you away to somewhere safe._

Spencer nodded rapidly to where it looked more like a twitch before he went into the den to retrieve the gun. Ekon grabbed the crossbow, arrows, and bag before heading into the kitchen, watching Scarlett set the bug on the counter close to the doorway before heading back to the small table on the other end of the room. He set the items on the dark wood surface as Spencer came in, holding the gun towards the ground. Ekon decided to take the gun back and place it next to the Mossberg, knowing that someone that doesn't know how to use a gun is very dangerous, especially when as jumpy as the poor writer.

Looking over at the script Ekon was still writing, Scarlett took a deep, quiet breath, motioning for Spencer to come towards them. Once Ekon was done, he flipped back to the beginning and said, "There's nothing upstairs. Scarlett, where to from here?"

"I have a friend in New York," Scarlett suggested, allowing herself to sound frazzled.

"What's going on here?" Spencer demanded, reading off the memo pad. Ekon was glad the fear in his voice was going to help sell this.

"The Giltebreks know that we outnumber them," answered Scarlett. "That's why they want to be kept in the dark for now—if we take a step forward, they're forced to take a step back. That's why they want you to back off."

Ekon flipped to the next page. "And that's why we have to get you out of here how. As I said in the park, they most likely already know about me, but there's a safe house not far from the Ronald Reagan Washington Airport."

"What am I supposed to do?" Spencer did well at sounding outraged. "Just leave everything behind?"

"I'll stay back and speak to your boss." Ekon turned the page. "Scarlett will take you to New York. It's either leave or be killed."

"He offered me money," Spencer admitted, looking like he was finally beginning to calm down.

"That money comes with strings," Scarlett growled. "Once you touch it, you're under their thumbs. Now come on. We'll leave at noon tomorrow."

Ekon zipped up the duffle bag and motioned for them all to leave. Scarlett positioned Spencer in front of her, and Ekon led the way, unlocking the door as Scarlett quietly ran into the den to grab Spencer's briefcase. She handed it to Spencer, and he took it as he followed Ekon onto the sidewalk, trying to hold it all together.

**XXX**

"Duncan."

Gabe stopped on his way to the elevators and turned to face Agent Ryce Gifre. The man of forty-seven years had a deep, booming voice and hard, dark brown eyes. His very atmosphere screamed "in charge," and he held an iron fist Gabe used to rebel against. This six-foot-four man seemed to have discarded the velvet glove long ago, finding it too soft for the effect he apparently needed to get ahead.

Agent Gifre would be what Counselor Reeves from Gabe's therapy in high school called a "boss" rather than a "leader." Leaders were supposed to listen and be a part of the group they managed. Agent Gifre would much rather be above them all and have his word as law. It was under him Gabe learned that "leaders" got nowhere. "Bosses," on the other hand, were the ones that would soar and squash anyone that dared get in their ways. It was cruel and unfair, but Gabe had learned to accept that—accept but refuse to submit fully. He'd rather die than submit.

"Sir?" Gabe was in his suit, with his intern tag, and hands coming out of his pockets to give a more obedient ("ass-kisser" as Gabe called it) posture. He needed Agent Gifre to believe Gabe was in full submission when, in actuality, he was using him and plotting against his so-called cause.

"In my office." Before Gabe could move to respond, the umber-skinned man turned on his heel and headed over to his office, stride purposeful and posture on the border of confidence and arrogance.

Making his back straight, Gabe followed, making sure to leave his shoulders down and slightly hunched. People around here tended to be very observant—part of the job. It made it to where Gabe couldn't just lie and expect it to be believed. He had to remember every detail, had to keep everything simple but not obvious, and he had to sell it with his body language. That meant keeping a dictionary in his head and being conscious of every movement and idiosyncrasy. There were two books about body language in his nightstand, which probably had more highlights than text. He couldn't simply keep his face indifferent day after day. People would notice and begin to wonder—_know_ that he was hiding something. Gabe hated having to think about every tiny detail all the time, but if this was what would help, he'd trudge through it.

Only, living a lie for so long made it harder for Gabe to find definitive answers. It got to where Gabe would sit up and wonder if truth actually existed. He would be up for hours, pacing around one room in the apartment, and trying to sort things through, sometimes muttering to himself. When confronted about it, Gabe would just tell Jo he was stressed about school or work, or that he was just really worried about Charlie.

Jo.

"_You didn't lose me. You threw me away."_

Taking a deep breath as he sat down, Gabe tried to clear his mind of his ex-girlfriend. This was not the time to linger within the memory of that dreadful night. This was work, and Agent Asshole would take the breakup and find a way to twist it and use Jo in his favor to bend Gabe to his will. After everything, Gabe knew that Jo leaving, though terrible, could be of some good. It was likely she would be heading to Diane's house in Cheyenne, Wyoming. The two had always been close, and Gabe was sure she'd be safe there for the time being.

After Gabe sat down, Agent Gifre closed the door and rolled the blinds to where they were half-way shut. The younger man merely sat in silence, back straight but head lowered slightly and shoulders still subtly hunched. He brought one hand up to pat his hair down, the other going into his pocket. He bounced his foot until his boss sat down in his chair, and he stuffed his other hand into his pocket, trying to give the air of a nervous intern trying to be good for the boss.

The nervous part wasn't hard to act upon, but Gabe had to fight back his usual defiant look. He couldn't just look completely anxious with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look; Agent Gifre would realize something was up. He had read Gabe's file; he knew he was a hard case. So to make his mask perfect, Gabe had to keep a stone-like mask of confidence. He had to make eye contact but look away every so often—to the ground or side was best; he had to sit up straight—too straight; and he had to make certain gestures (right out of the books) without making anything obvious.

Leaning back in his chair, Agent Gifre had to incline his head to meet Gabe's eyes—he was looking down on him. "Roach tells me your mother hasn't been to the hospital."

Daniel Roach was the Diacona member Amy had been in contact with at the hospital. Daniel worked in medical supply, and he was just as condescending and arrogant as Agent Gifre, making them far from friends. They were both in charge at a certain level, but neither could be considered the bosses of Diacona.

Gabe only knew one name out of seven: Jerald McKenzie. He was originally from a town in Arizona, but he held no loyalty to his country. The other six were the same but were from other places in the world. Their only allegiance was to money and power; their only muse was greed. Gabe didn't have to know their names to hate them down to his core. He didn't have to know where they were originally from to hate what they were doing to those who could have once have been called their brothers and sisters. He didn't have to know what they looked like to want to kill them, starting with Agent Asshole.

However, Gabe needed him, needed them. Unfortunately, Diacona was the only group that could lock horns with the Giltebreks. Both groups had people in very high places, and Gabe was still a mere pawn. That meant playing the snake, lying below the beautiful flowers.

"Yes, sir," Gabe answered, making sure his voice held the slightest of tremors. "My dad left the house not long ago." He made his voice level again. "She took it hard. After Charlie…" He let himself trail off, eyes going towards the right.

"Yes, young Charlotte." Agent Gifre gave a nod, but there was no true concern in his voice. "Do you know where she is?"

"No, sir." At least that was the truth. It killed Gabe not knowing, but him having no clue gave him the hope that she was safe.

"And I understand that your other sister, Theodora, is also missing."

_It's Teddy,_ thought Gabe bitterly. _Just Teddy. There is no Theodora, dumbass. _"The police report was sent in eight days ago. All they were able to find was her cell phone at a café in New York City."

"My superior is starting to wonder why people around you are disappearing. Both sisters, your father—"

"Excuse me for interrupting"—Gabe didn't have to fake this tremor—"but my dad is at my grandmother's house in Golden. She called a couple of days after he left."

There was iciness to his leer, but he stayed composed. It was obvious that he was not one to correct or interrupt. "And one of my subordinates says they witnessed your girlfriend leave on her motorcycle. She was not seen with bags, but she has not been back. I did not care enough to have her followed or checked up on. To leave in such an abrupt manner, though, she must have figured something out?"

_She's safe for now_, thought Gabe, fighting the urge to look relieved. _Now I just need to keep her that way_. "She noticed me acting differently. I wouldn't say anything, and she assumed I was cheating on her." He waited for a bit, but Agent Gifre motioned for him to go on. "She had been cheated on in the past, and she has a short fuse. I've called to apologize, but she doesn't pick up. I have no way of knowing when or if she'll come back."

The older man stroked his chin, callused palm and fingers running over his short-cropped, greying beard. "And what of Theodora? Is there any way of her having had contacts with them? Or maybe even Charlotte somehow?"

"I only know that she was last seen in New York and that her suitcase came back here without her. She thinks they're just part of a nut-job conspiracy theory and even tried telling Charlie so when she was still in Denver, and as far as I know, Teddy has been just as clueless as I."

Truth, truth, truth. Lies were just as much about truth as they were about falsehood. It was all about intertwining the right portions of both; it could get to where even the storyteller wasn't sure where which string of the web originated from. That was why liars needed such great memories, and Gabe's was almost photographic.

"But you're not sure." Agent Gifre sat up and placed his elbows on the table, looking Gabe head-on. "She was in Europe for about two years, correct?"

"Austria." Gabe knew the predator before him already knew the answer; he wouldn't be surprised if he had been watching every member of his family since Charlie's disappearance. How could one little girl cause so much damage? Gabe didn't want to blame her, but he sometimes couldn't help but think that he'd be living in blissful ignorance of Diacona and the Giltebreks if not for her blog. Why couldn't she had been an underachiever like he and PJ had?

"There were no calls?" inquired Agent Gifre. His voice was soft, but the tone was still just as sharp. It was like a lion trying to calm the mouse by giving a toothy smile. "They used to video-chat, right? Or maybe letters?"

There was something about the way he said the last word—something about the way the left corner of his mouth quirked upwards by the smallest degree. Gabe didn't have time to linger on it; he had to answer to his superior first. Luckily, he didn't have to lie about the confusion either. "No, sir. Not to my knowledge."

The FBI agent studied Gabe's features for some time before leaning back once more and turning away. "You're dismissed, Duncan."

**XXX**

Heat could be felt over a portion of James's scalp and his hairline as Krystle continued straightening his loose ringlets. She stood over him as he sat in front of the mirror, observing the process and flinching when she'd get to close to the scalp or accidentally clasp the edge of one of his double-tipped ears.

"Stay still." She still only wore her underwear, though she had put on her denim jacket over her beige, strapless bra—though only when Immanuil had begged her to put on clothes. She was leaning over him, observing her work in the mirror as she straightened another lock.

"Well, maybe if you stopped burning me," the Witch growled. He was usually very patient, but he needed to get into the facility. Immanuil had finally conceded that James would be the one to go in, but the Vampire would stay close with a friend from Alberta if James needed a swift getaway.

After a few jokes about a Vamp and Witch working together, Krystle affirmed that she would stay in the cabin with Alec and another friend and man the computers and transmitters. They would be able to send the information to many places and have many drop-zones before it reached the six people on encrypted computers.

Looking from the mirror to James's head, Krystle murmured, "I'm sorry. I'm almost done. Do you want to leave your hair down or up?"

"Princess will have to cut his hair," said Immanuil from the doorway.

They were in one of the three guest bedrooms—the one Krystle was staying in.

Ignoring the glare James was shooting him by mirror, Immanuil continued, "I got a call from Seán. They have a magazine writer who's been contacted by the Giltebreks—offered him money. The writer is staying with Seán for now, and he said that Sierra, Scarlett, and the blogger's older sister are heading to Nevada tomorrow. The writer wants to go with them, and Seán says they may let him—Sierra would need his interviewing skills."

"What writer?" asked Krystle, turning around after she finished straightening James's curl. She was almost finished, and the man turned around, also interested.

"I didn't get a name. You think it could be the same?" Immanuil's eyes met the woman's.

"I don't know of any others that live near Seán and is writing anything that would upset them." She turned back around to finish styling the Witch's dark brown hair. "It's almost to your shoulders when straight. Immi's right. We'll have to cut it to be above your collar as is in regulation of uniform. I only know him as Mr. Fadeyka, Immanuil. His pseudonym was Alvis Fadeyka. I'd call him and usually asked him to meet me at a bar—usually Blue Moon, which is owned by Mr. Florez. He's from Columbia and very nice. We would talk when I used to go there while in D.C. He has four sisters and two brothers, and—"

"The writer," Immanuil interrupted, James sighing. When left speaking, she could go from subject to subject for hours, her words running together in an incomprehensible manner the longer she spoke. It was often she needed to be set back on track, but James was used to tuning her out and catching her when she paused for a breath. Immanuil, on the other hand, had never needed to learn the skill of patience or self-control. In certain ways, he was a model for the stereotypical Vampire.

Krystle tilted her head and smiled when she had finished straightening James's hair. She set the iron down onto the sycamore desk and picked up her silver brush, using it to tidy James's hair. "Yes… Mr. Fadeyka. He was very skeptical… very much. Such a crutch… Not a lot was ever caught…" She blinked, the brush falling from her hand.

Catching it, James got up from the chair with beautifully-carved wood. His board-straight hair fell around his angular face, nearly brushing his broad shoulders as he took Krystle by the shoulder with his free hand. "Krystle, have you eaten?"

"Citrus Skyy," she whispered, eyes half-lidded as she stared at the wood as if memorizing the grain.

Exhaling sharply, James turned to place the brush on the horizontal dresser, muttering, "Vodka for breakfast. Senka Divines…"

The copper-haired man in the doorway came forward, helping the woman to her bed. "More like Lishion, Guardian of Alcohol."

"He prefers Guardian of Ecstasy," whispered Krystle as she pulled the antique, aurora-like quilt around her shoulders. "And it was all that I could stomach. Where do you keep the really good stuff?"

"Hidden from people like you," replied Immanuil as he began to leave the room. "I'm going to go get a plate of some food. Lie down and rest. Princess, you start snipping away. I wouldn't be surprised if Krys had a pair of scissors in her suitcase, but if she doesn't, there's some in the bathroom." As he went further down the hallway towards the kitchen, his voice rose in volume.

Lying down slowly, Krystle closed her eyes and allowed her bangs to brush over her long lashes. "Front, bottom pocket, inside my make-up bag. Don't let anything get disorganized."

As she spoke, her words became softer, and she began to drift off to sleep. James went to her black suitcase with the flag of Wales stitched onto the large, front bottom pocket. The bright, red dragon seemed to almost watch him as he unzipped the pocket and got out the crimson make-up bag with vine-and-flower designs.

Light snoring filled the room as he sat back down in front of the mirror and began brushing his hair, parting it just right of the center. He hated the idea of giving himself one of those military haircuts he tended to see, but he held his breath and started snipping. There were already five vials of disguise potion to give his ears a rounded tip; they had gone over everything they could with their limited information; and the two friends from Alberta were due to arrive within a few hours to help Immanuil with the backup and other intelligence gathering and security they can help with.

As Wings, they all had many jobs. There were the usual specifics such as Protector, Writter/Blogger, Informant, or Gatherer, but there were many overlaps as well. There were also many times when there were no specifics or labels. They simply had to do what was needed at the moment.

Once Immanuil had rested after he and James had arrived in Gakona, they had contacted Phoenix Vargas. He allowed the mission as long as help was on the way. There were guidelines to go by, but with the Giltebreks moving in all directions over the universe, Phoenix Vargas's main focus was not on Milky Way Earth. He cared and tried to talk with them about their plan for a bit to know the basics, and he said that he wants copies of all information gathered sent to him and the Twelve. The three had readily agreed, knowing that the rest of the planning and set-up would be up to them and the backup they had coming in.

Staring into the mirror as he cut away at his hair, James tried to center his thoughts and calm himself. It was nerve-racking, thinking about all that could go wrong. He could be electrocuted, he could be caught, he—

_Stop it_, James told himself, putting the scissors back down when his hair was cut close to his scalp. It was easier to see his slight widow's peak, and his ears seemed to stand out even more. _If you only think about something going wrong, it'll happen_.

Steps quiet, Immanuil entered the room, holding a plate of black and rye bread with some cheese, slices of meat, and a tiny bowl of butter. "Asleep?" His eyes went over to Krystle's huddled form in the sleigh bed after taking in James's much-shorter hair. He then went over to set the plate on the corner of the dresser. "I heard from Elijah and Levi. They're about to cross the border into Alaska."

"So we start tomorrow morning." James gave a nod and began to brush his hair off of the dresser and onto the floor. "Is the uniform ready?"

Taking a bit of the bread, Immanuil nodded, which the nervous man returned.

"Okay, then."

_On an ebony bed decorated  
><em>_with coral eagles, sound asleep lies  
><em>_Nero - unconscious, quiet, and blissful;  
><em>_thriving in the vigor of flesh,  
><em>_and in the splendid power of youth._

_But in the alabaster hall that encloses  
><em>_the ancient shrine of the Aenobarbi  
><em>_how restive are his Lares.  
><em>_The little household gods tremble,  
><em>_and try to hide their insignificant bodies.  
><em>_For they heard a horrible clamor,  
><em>_a deathly clamor ascending the stairs,  
><em>_iron footsteps rattling the stairs.  
><em>_And now in a faint the miserable Lares,  
><em>_burrow in the depth of the shrine,  
><em>_one tumbles and stumbles upon the other,  
><em>_one little god falls over the other  
><em>_for they understand what sort of clamor this is,  
><em>_they are already feeling the footsteps of the Furies.  
><em>_- "Footsteps" by Constantine P. Cavafy_


	32. Highest Rank is a Free Citizen

_**Rhoda Penmark = girl from The Bad Seed by William March for those that don't know. I don't have to repeat that I don't own any of the works I allude to, right?**_

"_There is one thing stronger than all the armies in the world, and that is an idea whose time has come." - Victor Hugo_

The house was silent when PJ entered, but he could see his mom's blonde hair thrown over the armrest of the couch as well as hear her light snoring. The lights were dimmed, but PJ could see enough, so he just set down his messenger bag by the wall below the hooks holding the coats and jackets before setting off towards the kitchen, making sure to stay quiet while doing so. His mom needed rest, and PJ had made sure she ate some food before he left to see Jennifer. It had only been some crackers and ginger-ale, but after nearly three days of fasting, PJ had felt it necessary to ease her back into meals. This was all textbook depression (though PJ had only read about it on the internet), and it was killing him to realize there was nothing he could do to bring her out of this hole. Her depression felt contagious, but, instead of sadness, it only fed him anger.

At her. At his dad. At Gabe. At Teddy. At Charlie…

Everyone had done something to lead to this. There was no victim—only wronged villains. Was anyone virtuous anymore? Was there no sense of morality left? PJ had to fight the urge to slam the refrigerator door shut after grabbing a cupcake. His hand went over some of the chalk on the door, and he vaguely remembered watching his mom paint over the door with chalkboard paint when he was around the age of three. Amy had always hated the smell of dry-erase markers, but she always needed to surround herself with notes and reminders, as things often slipped her mind. That was where the style had first started; she had later decided to use the chalkboard paint on a couple of walls as well as the sliding doors leading into the playroom (what later became Teddy's bedroom).

Remnants of the pink chalk showing what needed to be bought at the grocery store last week stuck to the meat of his hand, and he patted it off by his jeans as he brought the cupcake to the table. It was cold, the buttercream frosting stiff. He took a bite, the vanilla and buttercream exactly what he needed. The texture of the cupcake proved it had been in the refrigerator for a while, but PJ didn't really care. He wasn't even really hungry, but he needed something to do. Stuffing his face used to be how he would solve his problems as a kid and adolescent. The day he ate four cups of beacon was when he had been informed by the guidance counselor that he may not be able to graduate.

_Who would have thought that nearly failing algebra II and English comp would have been the least of my worries?_ thought PJ, thinking back to that day.

Mrs. Williams had called him in during free period to tell him that he needed to bring his grades up in his classes and finish his volunteer hours if he wanted any hope of graduating. PJ had been able to tell by her tone she didn't think he'd actually be able to succeed in life.

_Probably_, PJ reflected,_ that was why I worked so hard afterwards. To prove her wrong_.

Listening to his mom snore, PJ ate the rest of the cupcake, also hearing movement from upstairs. Gabe's car had been in the driveway, but the blond man had no interest in seeing his younger brother. He was still angry, the air in the house almost toxic. He was mad at all of them; none of them seemed to deserve forgiveness. Gabe and Amy had been keeping this huge secret from them this whole time. It drove Bob away, but PJ refused to see his dad as a victim anymore. Bob had experienced the same emotions as PJ. Both had felt betrayal, maybe even hatred, but _PJ_ stayed. His dad, on the other hand, hadn't been strong enough to face the demons. He may not have laid a hand on Amy that night, but he was the biggest part of the turmoil she felt now. He didn't have to slap her; his absence was a knife he, himself, had lodged into her chest.

None of this would have even started if not for Charlie's stupid blog, though. For two, very long years, he had thought that the youngest, most innocent of the Duncan brood had been taken, scared, or even dead. Now, though, he knew that she had left _willingly_, leaving them for the sharks that had been chasing her. Didn't she know that sharks only went after the wounded? She, Gabe, and Amy had been healthy with knowledge, even if it was miniscule, as they claimed. PJ and Bob, however, had been completely clueless, practically bleeding into the ocean. Had Charlie even cared that she was leaving them defenseless? Had she even bothered to _think_ about it? _Think_ about telling them? She wasn't innocent; she was just as guilty as everyone else that had caused Amy grief and PJ this burning anger.

She was Rhoda Penmark. She may not have murdered with her own hands, but she may as well have.

And what about Teddy? How long had she known? Where was she now? Was she with Charlie? Why hadn't she contacted them? What was she doing?

Was _anyone_ sane anymore? Had sanity ever _existed_?

PJ felt like he didn't know the answer to anything anymore. Yet, questions kept appearing, multiplying. They refused to leave without their unknown companions. Many seemed to be having affairs, refusing to stick with anything definitive. It was all so confusing, and PJ was so _sick_ of that horrible feeling. Suddenly, he pushed the other half of the cupcake away as his stomach churned and the vanilla changed to the appalling taste of sour milk.

"How's Jen?" Gabe spoke softly, keeping his steps quiet as he made his way to the fridge. His eyes went down to what used to be Gabe's Corner, where he would put down jokes or whatever it was he wanted to say (as long as it wasn't mean or "going over the line").

Seeing Gabe get out half of a sandwich on a multi-colored plate, PJ replied, "She asked me if I wanted to move the date."

"_I'll be completely fine with it, PJ. Family is very important. I'll understand."_

_He took her chin in his hand, meeting those pure, chocolate eyes. "Thank you so much, Jennifer, but we can't move the date. With all that's going on, our wedding may be what brightens things up again." Their lips met; her hands, rough with calluses, went around his neck. "I love you so much."_

"_I love you, too."_

Sitting in his mom's kitchen, PJ knew those words to Jennifer were true. Family was important, but she was going to be his new family. They were supposed to build a life together. He didn't want to leave his mom, dad, or siblings, but there was no way he could ever _think_ of leaving Jennifer. It would be impossible.

"What did you say?" asked Gabe as he sat across from PJ. His hair was wet, and there was worry in his eyes.

"I told her we'd keep it where it is."

"Good."

It was hard to hate his little brother, watching him solemnly take a bite of the turkey sandwich. It was hard to hate him, hearing the relief in his voice upon realizing that PJ's relationship with Jennifer was safe. It was hard to hate him, seeing him look so worried and… defeated. Had Jo's absence been that horrible?

_Of course it has_, thought PJ, not even wanting to fathom how he'd be if Jennifer walked out on him. "Did things at work go alright today?"

"Agent Asshole called me into his office." Gabe still had that habit of speaking with his mouth full. "It was worse than all those times I called in to see the principal."

"Even the time you went into Principal Roth's office in handcuffs?" PJ smirked, needing _something_ to laugh at, no matter how small. If he waltzed with the monsters too long, he may end up seeing them in his mirror. He had to remember the good things about his family.

When Gabe stifled a chuckle, PJ knew he'd needed that release as well.

"Yeah, even worse than that." Gabe took a breath, setting down the sandwich. "He kept asking questions about Jo, Teddy, Charlie, Dad…" He trailed off, the worry coming back to his eyes. His expression made him look almost disturbed. "I can't believe how much he knows. It shouldn't surprise me after all the warnings, but…"

_There's just no such thing as us being a step ahead, is there? _PJ asked himself. _Does he know about me? What about Jennifer? How much? Is she in danger? Will we have to move? Will that even help?_ So many questions sped through PJ's mind, not letting any pauses come in between. It got to where all the words ran together incomprehensively, and it seemed to take all of his concentration to just ask, "So what now?"

It was a very casual-sounding question. He had used it countless times when asking Emmett what they should do after too much time of being bored. The words were nonchalant, but the meaning behind it was monumental. He was asking how they were going to handle this. Both knew now that such as task was going to be much harder than first anticipated. They were pawns, forever watched by the court. It didn't matter how they fared; all that mattered was if Diacona's needs were met. PJ hated having to wonder if he and Jennifer would be safe. He couldn't stand being constantly angry at his family. Everything was falling apart at the seams, and PJ just couldn't take it anymore.

As he thought, Gabe took a few more bites of his sandwich. "I honestly don't know. He has spies anywhere, but, as far as I know, he hasn't been able to hear our personal conversations. In person, of course. On the phones is another story. He didn't tell me he was hacking our phones, but I wouldn't put it past him." Gabe took another bite, now halfway done. "He didn't bother following Jo, and he most likely doesn't know that you and Dad know anything. Do you and Jennifer know where you guys are going for your honeymoon?"

"We're still debating about either Sri Lanka or Fiji." PJ and Jennifer had actually started talking about it after PJ told her he didn't want to postpone the wedding. "Why?"

"So no reservations have been made?"

"Not yet." Where was this going?

Gabe swallowed and set down the last corner of his sandwich. "When you make the reservations, don't go through an agent, and don't make reservations for a hotel. Once you get to either Sri Lanka or Fiji, find a cabin-like place. You know, those romantic, leaf-roof places by a beach or in a jungle. The beach would probably be best. Not only will Jen like it, but it'll be open, making it easier for you to spot spies and also get away if you have to. Also, don't pay with a credit card when you get there. Go ahead and exchange some of your money before leaving and also get some more when you get to where you're going. Pay for everything in cash, and make sure wherever it is you're staying is miles away from the airport."

After watching tons of crime shows, PJ had gotten an idea of what Gabe was saying. "Alright, so no paper trail and keep my eyes open. What do I tell Jennifer? She's going to notice I'm jumpy and paranoid. I can't just lie to her from day one of our marriage."

Pushing away his plate, Gabe's eyes went to the cupcake. He didn't want it; it looked like he was thinking how it'd be gone by now if Dad was there. "Go ahead and tell her everything. Make sure she knows that _you_ didn't even know until recently." His voice was soft, definitely full of remorse. "Keeping things from Jo is what ruined everything. Just ask her to go through things as usual. Agent Gifre may not know if you know, but if he thinks Jen knows…"

"I understand." He didn't—not fully. They were already in danger, but it had to seem like they didn't pose a threat. Knowledge was power, but ignorance was safety. At least temporarily.

**XXX**

Blood rushed through her veins as her heart pumped, fingers tingling as her head pounded. Teddy hoped her nervousness was not given away by her expression, and she tried desperately to keep her posture casual. Her limited acting skills had never been put through this sort of test, and she decided that she preferred the stage.

Jaques from _As You Like It_ may have said that all the world was a stage, but life didn't have direct cues or precise entrances or exits. It was the actor's job to seek out the best time to drop one mask and don the other or even (if lucky) drop all the masks at once. None of the lines had been written down—it was all nightmarish improv with a higher stake than looking foolish. In high school, Teddy had played the Beast, Raina Petkoff, Princess Winnifred, and Kristine Linde. She had also taken up playing extras and had been in the chorus many times in different musicals. Now, though, she was made to play Taylor Smith—unassuming, nonchalant, and ignorant to the questions and information spinning through her mind.

It was like playing herself; it was of the same, massive difficulty as playing herself. She had to know quirks: when to use them and when to keep still. She even had to keep in mind how she breathed. Breathing too evenly would upset her well thought-out posture. She had to take in air deeply at certain moments to seem bored. She had to glance at her watch at irregular intervals, making sure the glances were not too close together. She had to make her quirks and movements make her seem bored and impatient. There couldn't be any nervousness, and she was just another face in the crowded airport. How was it that someone considered an extra in real life was harder and more nerve-racking to play than a lead in a play in front of a huge audience?

What really made Teddy's heart pound, however, was the fact that Spencer was in the parking lot, along with Sierra. Why did Spencer have to come? Seán claimed it was for protection. Sierra claimed that she needed help getting information in Rachel and Las Vegas, but Teddy suspected that the Elves were still tag-teaming with Ekon to play matchmaker. It seemed ridiculous to be worried about such a thing at the time, but Teddy felt awkward having him near. She was just glad he and Sierra were taking a later flight. They would eventually meet up at the safe house on Moonflower Drive. Seán had gotten a friend in Colorado to drive over to Las Vegas and rent the one-story home, using a fake name with an account backed in an overseas bank. Teddy guessed Swiss just because it was always a Swiss bank in the movies and shows, but she didn't know for sure and didn't really care. As long as they weren't discovered, she was fine.

"All jewelry and other metal into the pan, please," the stout security guard lightly ordered, holding out the shallow bowl. "Also take off your shoes and hat, as well as your belt if you are wearing one." She did not bother to smile, seeming just as annoyed as the people in line.

Teddy did as told, taking off the gold locket around her neck, her sneakers, belt, and felt bucket hat. They went onto the conveyor belt as she also pulled off her ring, placing it by her necklace in the bowl. Her backpack, camera case, and lens case went with her shoes and hat, and Teddy's heart pounded as she walked into the full-body scanner. It had been fixed years ago to make sure no "mules" got on board, and the X-ray scanning the bags and shoes could also pick up certain chemicals used to make bombs.

It amazed Teddy that it couldn't catch her two guns and silencer, but she forced herself to keep her eyes off of the machine until she walked out of the detector and to the end of the conveyor to retrieve her stuff.

She had kept the bored look on her face, trying to keep the posture as if thinking, _I know this is necessary, but it's a pain in the ass_.

"Thank you." The blonde gave a nod to the second security guard. She began to put back on her shoes, belt, and hat as well as her necklace and ring just as the man behind her left the detector. Teddy quickly grabbed her bags, and the cocoa-skinned security guard gave her a nod.

"Have a nice flight, Miss." At least he smiled, but Teddy was easily able to tell he was faking.

"Thank you, sir, and have a good day." She kept her voice in a tone that portrayed that she didn't care about him and that she was only trying to be polite. As she spoke, she was already walking off, trying to secure the straps of her bags over her shoulders.

The next plane leaving for Las Vegas did not leave for another half-hour; Teddy went over to the food court, finding a place serving greasy, Americanized Chinese food. There was no line, so Teddy went ahead and got some teriyaki chicken and lo mein noodles. Scarlett had been about eight or nine people behind her in security. The story was that they did not know each other, and they were going to sit in different aisles on the plane. It did not matter too much to Teddy. She knew that there were ways for them to get messages to each other if needed, but Teddy hoped that the ride would be smooth. Their mission was going to be arduous; the journey didn't need to be a battle as well.

As always when nervous, Teddy ate fairly quickly, and there was still about twenty minutes until boarding. She had seen a bookstore by the restroom, so Teddy headed towards there. The romance section was near the back, and Teddy picked up something that resembled one of those train station, cookie-cutter plot novels. She normally got bored with them (she figured after one novel, she knew how the others went), but she just felt like reading something simple and mind-numbing with a happy ending. She needed something like that after everything. Real life had too many twists the minds of writers couldn't think of, let alone write down.

"I love this book," gushed the clerk, her sky blue eyes, hidden behind large glasses, sparkling. "Where are you heading?"

_Great, _thought Teddy. _Talkative one. Ugh._ "Las Vegas." She kept the trying-to-be-polite smile plastered on her face. "I like to read during flights, and Lisa Cleary is such an amazing author."

"I know." The clerk ran up the book, eyes on the computer. "I love her characterization, and her heroines are always so scandalous." She handed the book back. "It's eleven-forty-one. So, what are you going to do in Las Vegas?"

Teddy got out the money in her pocket, finding about sixty cents in change from the Chinese food place. She also pulled out a couple of crumpled bills. "Get some desert shots,"—she motioned to her camera case—"have fun, and try to forget about my deadbeat ex-boyfriend." _Some reasons most go to Las Vegas,_ Teddy added in her mind. These were easy to remember, and it was completely believable.

"_Heart of Passion_ will help with forgetting him." The clerk winked, a few strands of her pale hair falling out of her off-center bun. "Have fun!"

"Thank you." Teddy tried to make her smile more real before leaving and heading back to her gate.

Opening the book to the first page, Teddy noticed Scarlett a few rows over, facing her. The brunette was reading a newspaper, but the occasional flicker of her eyes told Teddy that she was scouting the area. The blonde didn't look at Scarlett long and tried to get into her book. Unfortunately, it opened up right into the throes of passion, so Teddy only skimmed it over before getting into some of the drama.

She tended to be a relatively fast reader, and she had learned speed-reading in college, needing that skill for many of her classes. She could now get through one-hundred pages in just a few short hours while retaining even some of the smallest details. With her classics, though, she took more time, always wanting to become absorbed and look through all of the devices used. There was a limited amount of books allowed to be studied at Teddy's high school, and when she had read _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ in college, her professor had had them all read the "new" version. Teddy had read the original version, however, and many of her books for class had more highlights than text. Many also had tabs pointing to different passages and holding notes.

Reading _Jane Eyre_, _A Thousand Splendid Suns_, _Frankenstein_, and _A Tale of Two Cites_ had been a great way to see the struggles and issues from that time period. Many of those issues still persisted today, and Teddy couldn't help but see the problems presented in _Fahrenheit 451_ rising within present society.

Too many people preferred to be blissfully ignorant, either tiptoeing around or completely ignoring the big issues all around them. In college, Teddy had been secretary of a club that brought Read a Banned Book Week to the campus. She helped name books on the banned list along with short tags on why they were banned. At first, not many had been interested, but word had soon spread. From intermediate to mature, books banned across the US for various reasons was seen in the hands of many students, even when the week was far-over.

It seemed that Silver Wing was trying to bring about similar change as the Literate Americans Club. It was just on a much larger scale. They were attempting to pass along knowledge. It was a powerful weapon that had brought on as much and more destruction as the atomic bombs. It was the great minds possessing this weapon that led to the creations of such destructive artifacts, and people have been coming up with ways to obtain it from their enemies for years.

Upon reaching a scene where Ella was admiring her lover from her balcony, the Asian woman at the desk by the door called for passengers of Teddy's flight start boarding. Dog-earing the page she was on, Teddy got out her boarding pass. The book went into her backpack, and she took a breath. Her heart pounded, but she made sure to look like nothing worried her. _It'll be fine. It'll be fine._

Of course, Teddy knew that nothing could be sure about what she was going to do.

**xxx**

There was barely any time to rest upon arrival to the safe house. It was a simple, four-room building with stucco siding and clay tile shingles. It was quaint to Teddy, and she was glad that she'd be sharing a room with Scarlett rather than Sierra or Spencer. Those two were staying in the master bedroom, and the final room was being used as basically a reporting and communication station. Computers had already been left there by the woman from Colorado, and all four of them had brought along laptops with encryption chips put in by Seán and Ekon. The blinds were kept shut in the bedrooms, but they were kept open in the den and kitchen. Things could not look suspicious, and Teddy had memorized the story like Ella had memorized the muscles on Jean-Luc's buff body.

Sierra and Spencer were Lynn and Wyatt Carlson, married for five years and moving due to Wyatt needing a new job. Wyatt was thirty-six while Lynn was thirty-four, and they had one child—a son—staying with his grandmother in northern Nevada while Wyatt searched. Scarlett was Stacy Matthews; she was a year older than Lynn and lived on the other side of Las Vegas. She was helping Lynn and Wyatt settle in and had decided to just stay at their house for a few days rather than commute back and forth. Teddy was Taylor Smith, Wyatt's cousin with a new job but no home of her own just yet.

_Always the mooch_, thought Teddy as she dropped her duffle bag onto the twin-sized bed with tucked-in sheets and a single pillow.

It reminded her of something she'd see in a military barrack or something. Inside the onyx duffel bag was just clothes and toiletries, but wrapped in some of her clothes and stuffed into the pockets of her jeans were electronics. They were supposed to hook up with the electronics in the bags of the other three and be used to keep watch on the house. One was something that would find bugs that could already be in the house, there were a few cameras, some listening devices, and others pieces that created high frequencies. According to Ekon, the high frequencies would counteract enemy devices trying to steal information, and they could also wipe all information off of their own computers and laptops. Until something was up on a blog or other website, Wings didn't like to keep delicate information on computers; what little information they did have on them, however, had to be destroyed before the escape.

"Hey," Scarlett greeted as she heaved her own black duffel onto the bed, pushed up against the wall opposite of where Teddy stood. "We'll look around the house first, and then we can start looking at that new job of yours." She kept a cheery voice, but there was a glint to her eyes and quirk to her lips that told Teddy she was stressed, nervous, and in great need of a rest.

"Sure, Stace." Teddy gave her own tired smile as she turned back around to open her duffel and start unpacking. She took out the electronics as she folded her clothes in the drawers of the dresser pushed against the wall facing the foot of her bed. She had only brought a couple weeks' worth of clothes. "I left some room for you in the dresser. Most of my clothes need to be hanged, anyway."

"Thanks." Scarlett took her bag over to the dresser as Teddy took her four outfits towards the closet, which was on the brunette's side of the room.

The outfits consisted of black, white, and grey; they were simple and professional. Set onto the floor under her blazers, jacket, blouses, and slacks went a pair of black pumps. These had all been bought only days before, everyone wanting Teddy to be able to sell herself as a worker commuting to Area 51. There was a private lot where the small jet would take off and land.

After making sure the house was safe, Teddy and Scarlett were due to head there and scout the area. They were supposed to look at security and the commuters. If the majority wore formal professional clothing, then that was what Teddy would wear. If the majority wore casual professional, then Teddy would wear that. She had to take in their postures, and they would find someone to tail. Scarlett's goal was to get Teddy into Area 51 as soon as possible. Teddy's goal was to survive until tomorrow. She would then reset her goal for surviving to the next day, then the next.

Taking a faux coach purse (definitely full of electronics) out of the drawer, Scarlett stretched her free arm over her head. "I'm going to take Lynn's purse back to her. You can go ahead and take a nap. You're probably tired after the trip." She gave another smile before leaving, and Teddy went ahead to lie down on her bed without bothering to get under the sheets.

_I've only been doing this for days, and I'm already exhausted. What is it like to do this for _years_ and be away from those you love?_ Teddy wasn't sure if she could do that. Suddenly, she missed her sardine can of an apartment. She had started missing her family as soon as she left her cell phone at the café. _They're going to need help. None of them have any idea what's happening to me or Charlie._ Teddy knew she couldn't tell them outright, but she could still offer them help.

Getting up quickly, Teddy blinked away the black stars and grabbed her camera case. Securing the strap over her shoulder, Teddy went into the master bedroom on the other side of the house, that small smile still kissing her lips. "I'll help out later. I can't sleep, so I'm just going to take a walk."

Spencer looked like he was about to object when Sierra caught sight of the camera case. She spoke before Spencer could, voice kind.

"Go ahead, Taylor. We can handle things here for now."

"Thanks." Teddy's smile grew, and she left the house and got into the car in the driveway.

She drove into the city and parked near a casino. She then went to a payphone and took out some quarters from the smallest pocket in the camera case. Her eyes darted about a few times as she dialed the number and leaned against the phone box. It rang, and Teddy's heart began to speed into another gallop.

"Hello, this is Denver Physical Therapy," said a chirpy voice after the fourth ring. "I'm Emma Coles. How may I help you?"

"May I speak to Ms. Jennifer Mahajan, please?" Teddy requested in the kindest voice she could muster. "Please tell her it has something to do with her fiancé."

"Yes, of course," said the desk woman, sounding concerned now. "May I ask who's calling?"

"Johanna Keener," Teddy responded.

"Alright, it'll just be a moment."

As she waited, Teddy made sure she wasn't being watched while looking somewhat bored. It did not take too long before Jennifer came on.

"Jo?" She sounded confused. "PJ told me—"

"Jennifer," Teddy interrupted, "it's me. Don't talk." She could almost see Jennifer pausing, mouth open in question. "I can't talk for very long. Just tell PJ to go to my apartment and look in my room, around my bed. He'll find something that may come in handy."

'_Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!  
><em>_By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -  
><em>_Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,  
><em>_It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -  
><em>_Clasp a rare and radiant madden, whom the angels named Lenore?'  
><em>_Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'  
><em>_- "The Raven" (stanza 16) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	33. Absolved by Conscience

"_Above all, we must realize that no arsenal, or no weapon in the arsenals of the world, is so formidable as the will and moral courage of free men and women. It is a weapon our adversaries in today's world do not have." - Ronald Reagan_

As soon as it had been found out that no bugs had been planted in the house, Scarlett and Teddy set out towards the private lot. Lying over Teddy's left hip was the Glock 17 with the stainless steel slide, and in the holster secured just above her right ankle was a Glock 27. The hazel-green-eyed woman was equally armed and walked several paces in front of Teddy. They ended up splitting up when Teddy crossed the street to go down Reno Avenue. She and Scarlett had been walking up Las Vegas Boulevard (the Strip), which was near the McCarran Airport. Scarlett was supposed to keep walking until she got to the Bellagio and hail a cab to take her to Mandalay Bay. From there, she would go to the airport. Both women had listening devices shoved into their ear canals and disguised, miniature microphones to keep them in contact at all times. For Teddy, her microphone was a four-leaf clover brooch on her mauve blouse. The fake gems in the silver were black, making the microphone in the center completely inconspicuous.

Placing the fake blue tooth Sierra had given her over her right ear, Teddy went down another road. She took out a disposable cell phone (turned off) and punched a few numbers before placing the phone back into her pocket. She was already hearing Scarlett say that she was about to get into a cab.

"Okay, I'm just going to get a bite to eat," Teddy replied, heading to a restaurant with a view of the airport.

It wasn't the best view, but she should be able to see one of the two 737 jets. Each jet had a single red stripe down the side, and neither had any sort of company insignia. Only one went to Area 51, though it was called Groom Lake; the other went to Area 52, called the Tonopah Test Range or TTR. Both were ideal places to seek information, but it was difficult enough to get into one. It would be impossible to get into both, so Teddy was only getting into the plane that would commute to Groom Lake. Scarlett had wanted to do it, but they had all decided that Teddy was least likely to be recognized.

Spencer may have been most ideal, but Teddy had more training than he did. It was only a few weeks more of training, but they decided that they'd just have to pray it was enough. She would only use a gun as a last resort (that is, if she could even bring _in_ a gun), and the Thompson sisters were confident that she had the brains to "make a CIA agent look like a lumbering buffoon" (to quote Sierra). Since when did Teddy become a spy? Scouting, memorizing covers, and intelligence gathering… It was way more work and waiting around than James Bond had made it seem.

Taking a seat by the window so she could have a good view (well, the best she could get without clinging to the airport's fence) of the planes. She ordered water, the red-haired waitress giving a nod. She hadn't bothered the smile, looking haggard and ready for her shift to end.

"How are you doing?" asked Teddy, tucking some hair behind her ear to make sure the blue tooth was visible.

"Fine," replied Scarlett. She was making herself sound just as haggard as Teddy's waitress had looked. Tired and sluggish was a good ruse; it made people unsuspecting of a computer-quick brain and radar eyes and ears. "I'm going to the Mandalay Bay first to get our room before meeting up with you, 'kay?" She added a yawn (though that part probably wasn't acting).

"Alright," said Teddy as she looked over the menu. "Talk to you later." She touched the blue tooth, making it look as if she were turning it off.

At the Mandalay Bay, Scarlett really was supposed to get a room—a 550 deluxe. The workers were bound to have bugs in the house or people watching, so Scarlett was supposed to get the worker into the hotel room. Teddy was supposed to keep her distance just in case Scarlett was seen. Teddy would stay in constant contact with Scarlett throughout the process, however, and she would be keeping notes about the security at the gate. The idea was to get a new job slot for Taylor Smith. The necessary files were already in place if they did a background check, and Scarlett had a number of tactics to get information out of the worker. The only major fear was the worker snitching on them afterwards, so Scarlett needed to hammer it into the worker's head that he or she would deeply regret it if the higher-ups were warned of a mole. Also, not only would Teddy be getting a new job, but the worker would be offered to become a mole him- or herself. Scarlett had spoken with Phoenix Vargas, and he agreed protection for whichever worker they got if he or she worked with them.

_It's just a show to say that they aren't the bad guys_, thought Teddy.

She knew the actual spying game asked for certain morals to be set aside at different times. She liked their method better than other choices, though, and it reminded her of one of Ekon's books: _How to Break a Terrorist: The U.S. Interrogators Who Used Brains, Not Brutality, to Take Down the Deadliest Man in Iraq _by Matthew Alexander and John Burning. Since it hadn't looked like something she'd enjoy, Teddy hadn't read more than the inside of the cover. One sentence had been "An Air Force investigator turned interrogator, Alexander was trained in the post–Abu Ghraib interrogation techniques that replace fear and control with respect, rapport, hope, cunning and deception." It later stated that one did not have to become the enemy to destroy the enemy. Teddy greatly hoped that that statement was true in this case.

"Here you go," said the brown-eyed waitress, setting down the glass of water. "Do you know what you want?"

Setting down the menu, Teddy gave the waitress a smile. "Yeah, I'd like a turkey burger with extra onions, please."

"What sides? It comes with two."

"Curly fries and steamed broccoli, please."

She jotted that down onto her pad and gave a nod. "I'll be back soon with your order."

Setting the menu back behind the napkin dispenser, Teddy looked out the window. It was just past four now, and the flight was supposed to land at 4:50. The afternoon sun shone brightly as it headed towards the west, still inflicting the terrible heat Teddy could hardly stand to bear. She was glad that the restaurant was air-conditioned. If she had to wait almost fifty minutes for a plane to land, she'd much rather it be with air circulating within a building rather than stuck in the one-hundred-nine-degree weather.

_Who builds a city in the middle of the freaking desert?_ Teddy asked herself, taking a sip of water.

**XXX**

Back pressed against a large tree, James took some deep breaths, head tilted up. His hair was now cut military-style, and Levi had helped him dye it a deep honey color as his brother, Elijah, brought in colored contacts. Instead of chestnut brown like his last contacts, these were bright blue with flecks of hazel around the pupils.

Elijah and Levi Tremblay had arrived a half-hour after Krystle woke up from her nap, and Elijah, the eldest of the Canadian brothers, had helped make the woman eat something. He was now back at the house with her, shoulder length black hair pulled back in a ponytail as he helped man the computers. The younger brother had his dark brown eyes on James now, wearing dark clothes and James's grey fedora and pushing his oak wand further down his left boot. Towering next to the five-foot-ten man of thirty-four was Immanuil, who wore a deep green shirt that hid the gun on his hip. In one of the pockets of his jeans was an extra clip, and, like Levi, he kept a knife tucked into one boot. They were going to split up in just a bit, after they repeated the plan.

Opening his eyes, James looked back at his two friends, still getting used to the feel of his new haircut. It was dark with the sun not due to rise for another ten to twenty minutes, but none of them had brought flashlights—it was better to just let their eyes adjust to the darkness. All of them were a bundle of nerves, but James felt like his anxiety was painted all over his face and radiating out from his body. He tried to keep the posture Immanuil had showed him with his shoulders back and spine erect. It had been hammered into his brain that it was not just about the haircut and uniform. He had to act the part, making it seem like he had gone through years of training. They all thought that with all the people that worked in the facility, none would pay too much mind to James—under the name of Beck Grayson—and Immanuil was sure that Carlos wouldn't have warned his superiors. Those like Carlos, according to the Vampire, had enough wisdom to know when to keep their mouths shut. (Apparently, that was some of the type of wisdom people needed in the military.)

"You know not to turn on your microphone, listening device, and video camera until you get past the magnetic field testing yard, right?" Immanuil inquired, keeping his voice low.

"_Si_." James swallowed again. He had to remember to keep to English, but he often switched to Spanish and back whenever he got nervous. "None of them look conspicuous?"

"You can only notice if you stare hard at where the camera's hidden," Levi assured, worry leaking through his pup-like eyes. "Ellie and Krys did a good job at hiding them."

A corner of James's mouth tipped upward at the sound of the nickname Levi had given to his older brother as a child, but the Canadian twitched slightly as if having Elijah yell through his own earpiece. Immanuil just rolled his eyes up slightly, seeming impatient as always. James was just glad that the Vampire hadn't started complaining about being up so early (somehow, they had _both_ seemed very much awake as soon as Elijah came in saying it was time).

"And that listening device is shoved so far down your ear, I'd be more worried about it getting stuck there." Immanuil's voice held a sort of gruffness it usually did when he hadn't gotten enough sleep. There were hardly noticeable shadows beneath his eyes, but he seemed to be forcing himself to stand tall and be strong for this mission.

Nodding, James looked back towards the facility. Based on the expressions Levi and Elijah had worn upon first spotting James with his cut hair, he knew it was harder to recognize him at first glance, and Elijah had assured that if he hadn't already known him for years, he wouldn't have been able to recognize him without looking closely. It had made the Witch feel better, knowing that the maln-grah did not say things he felt to be insincere.

Running a hand through his hair, just to be shocked once again at its new feel, James stated, "I want the records rooms, second floor mostly, right?" He knew, but he needed to be assured. Looking up, he saw the sky begin to lighten.

"Yes," replied Immanuil. "It looks like the first floor mainly consists of the labs, so it's more likely the records are kept on the second or third floor. I don't know about the security with the doors though. So at the first sign of trouble, get out of there."

Scratching the back of his head, Levi inputted, "It's very likely the IDs act as key cards. There's probably also either key pads or even scanners."

"Most scanners can be pretty easily hacked or tricked," James informed. "It's more likely there'd be keypads, and I know how to get around those." He looked up at the sky again and then over to the yard. "I better get going." He looked at his friends, who nodded. "Immanuil, you'll be here in the woods with a good view of the side of the building and Levi will be closer to the front?" Again, James knew but just needed to be assured.

"Of course," said Levi. "Try not to worry so much."

"Yeah," the indigo-eyed Vampire agreed. "It'll just show. Try to look confident. You've broken into bases before."

"Sure," replied the Witch as he took deep breaths and turned. "Alright. I think I see activity. I better start going before any of the scientists get out into the yard."

Without waiting for any other assurance from his two friends, James headed down, keeping to the shadows as the sky began to turn blue-grey in the east. At the bottom of a gentle slope, James approached the tall, chain link fence. It looked to be about twenty feet tall, and there were three thick pieces of barbed wire running all around, attached to thin metal poles angling outward. It wasn't an option to crawl through, but in the Witch's pockets were thick gloves. With the thickness of the wire assured him that they'd be able to hold his weight for the amount of time he needed to get over. Putting the gloves on, James took a breath and then got to climbing, making sure to hurry and make sure there weren't anyone around to see him. Although James had never had to go over a fence to get into a military base before, he was pretty familiar with climbing. It was the twenty-foot drop that would have had most people worried, but James was even more accustomed with falling than he was with climbing. He knew how to land to minimize injury.

At the top of the fence, James reached up, grabbing onto the farthest wire, having to lean back to do so. Once he got a good grip with both hands, he pushed off of the fence with his feet and quickly pulled himself up onto the wire. It sunk slightly under his weight and began to quiver under the tension. James grabbed onto the second wire, arms wide and then stepped up, legs quivering. He did the same with the final wire, then paused and looked around quickly to make sure no one was watching. James then jumped to the ground, landing on the balls of his feet and rolling onto this calf, thigh, hip, and then upper back. Brushing himself off, James took a few steps away from the fence, stuffed the right glove into the left, balled it up, and threw it as far as he could away from the area towards the cluster of trees.

_The easy part_, thought James as he headed towards the building at a brisk pace. He kept down the center between two lines of the towering devices, his heart pounding as he reminded himself to keep an erect spine and neutral expression. He walked with purpose and tried to keep the air of someone with the years of discipline of a military man.

As the sun began to peek over the roaming horizon, the man with honey-blond hair and blue-hazel eyes arrived at the door that had a keypad to the left of it. Using his peripheral vision, James made sure there was no one around him. It was already time for the workers to arrive, and James and Immanuil had already learned that the magnetic field operators and supervisors tended to arrive first. He would just have to sit and wait for one and catch the door to get in. The first camera would be inside the door, but James had to hope that the diversion worked and the main hall guards didn't get into the room until James was already inside.

James quickly went over to a large computer against the wall, using it to conceal him. He could then watch the door and head inside when others aren't watching. He'd have to be fast, and James's heart kept pounding.

As he waited, James worked on calming himself down, using the time to go through possible escape routes in his mind. There weren't many windows, and they were likely only located at ends of the hallways. It was also likely that if James ended up setting off an alarm, there'd be doors sealing shut to keep him inside and ready for capture. It was a good thing then he had Plan B tucked into his boots.

With the amount of security clearance a worker needed just to get a job inside, James was sure that the security had license to shoot first and ask questions later. There'd been a few buildings like that on bases James had managed to get into, but he had only broken into one building of that sort of security. It had been the time he nearly got caught, and he was lucky to have been able to walk away without any bullet wounds.

A man with dark brown-black hair cut similarly to James's walked out of the door and went to a computer on the other side. James wasted to time to hurriedly and quietly get to the door as soon as the short man began walking towards his station. James got there right before the door closed, and he slipped in as discreetly as possible. With his practiced posture and expression, he headed towards where he knew there to be stairs.

James started to get his heart to settle as he kept every turn and room location in his head to add to the diagram later. Behind a door with a thin window just above the door handle sealed off the staircase, and on the wall next to the frame was a keypad. In James's right pocket, he had one of Krystle's eye shadow brushes and a small compact of bronzer. James quickly used the brush to get some of the bronzer and dust the buttons. There were sets of fingerprints on five of the buttons, and James knew that the darkest-looking print would be the first, going on until the lightest-looking print.

_Five, eight, three, two, zero_, James went over in his mind as he punched in the numbers, making sure to wipe off the dust before going through the door. In the corner was a camera that followed his movements, but James ignored it, knowing that staring into the cameras may draw attention. He was a worker, and he should be used to the cameras. To do this, James had to have "just one of those faces"—the kind that would make people just shrug and keep walking after the passing thought of whether or not he looked familiar.

On the second floor, James saw that the doors were only labeled with numbers printed to the right of the frames. They also looked to have the readers next to the keypads, meaning that James would need a card.

_Shit. Where can I get a card?_ James wouldn't hesitate, and he suddenly got an idea and headed down another hallway, searching for the men's room. _Let's see if I can borrow one._

**XXX**

It was often very hard for Charlie to determine whether or not she actually liked Sierra Thompson-Byrne. The woman was impatient and often blunt to the point of being rude, but she was honest and refused to ever give up. She was cold and could kill a person without feeling any guilt, but it was also obvious she was beginning to actually feel some human feelings. She was proud and had a tendency to be selfish, but her selfishness tended to reach out to others—that didn't make sense, did it?

To Charlie, it did, but she wasn't completely sure how to explain it in a way to write a _Sierra for Dummies_ book. It was like the Elf was both selfish and selfless at the same time. She was willing to step on any heads to get ahead, but once at the top, she was willing to give everything of herself away to those she wanted to help. She took everything to extremes. For someone always talking about grey area, she seemed not to enjoy lingering there for long.

Truth was Charlie could only decide if she liked or disliked Sierra in moments. One day, she'll love her; another day, she'll hate her guts. Today was a day of the latter. It was too much of a headache to wonder how she fully felt about her guardian, so Charlie took it in moment by moment. For now, she hated Sierra for lying to her. Okay, that wasn't completely fair. Sierra had fought against Ekon and Scarlett, wanting to stay in D.C. She felt that she would hurt the mission in Las Vegas—she didn't trust herself with any people working at Area 51 or even the people in the area. It made sense, and her sister was _just_ about to back down and ask someone else until a new factor came into play: Spencer Amadeus Walsh.

Even before giving him information about the Giltebreks a few days ago, Charlie had known who he was. For about three years in high school, he had dated her older sister. From a study date in tenth grade until graduation. Teddy had spoken about him in many of her videos, and Charlie felt like she had really known him upon seeing his face. His looks hadn't changed much since high school, and it seemed his loyalty and smarts hadn't wavered either. He trusted both Ekon and Teddy, and he had agreed to go to Las Vegas for his own protection as well as using his questioning skills around the large city. Sierra was supposed to merely be his bodyguard—_her_ and not a "stranger" due to Spencer's own request.

_Still, I should have been able to go if she did_, Charlie thought childishly.

She couldn't help it. She was stuck in a small room in the back of a magic shop with a Warlock by the name of Andor. He was a friend of some woman by the name of Kristjana, who was in Boston at the moment with a friend. Andor was not sure what to think about Seán and vice versa, but they had both contacted the Azizir, and she agreed to pick up Charlie and bring her back with her to Boston for a while. She assured that her friend's home had been used as a safe house before and was still secure.

She wouldn't be in D.C. for a couple of days, however, so Seán and Ekon agreed to leave Charlie at the magic shop for her safety. She had her laptop and backpack, and temporary dye had been used to make her hair different shades of brown, ranging from medium to light. It had taken hours with multiple tubes, but they had wanted it to seem as natural as possible, which was very difficult using cheap dye that would wash out within about a week. She also wore brown contacts—it had taken her hours to get them in the first couple of times, and she was terrified of them somehow getting stuck to her corneas—and her hair had been cut even shorter. It was short and spiky in the back and long and sweeping in the bangs—a "long pixie cut" someone had called it. Charlie didn't like the constant feel of hair in her face, but it was cooler now without her scarf of blonde hair.

Going even further, Charlie had even used an ivory powder to make her seem paler. It didn't look very attractive to her, but she wasn't supposed to be turning heads anyway. She helped out in the magic shop, wearing fake piercings (the holes in her earlobes had long since closed up) and dark clothes to look like a goth-wannabe. The sticker-stud on her right nostril and the fake barbell in her left eyebrow annoyed her greatly, but when in public (though she rarely left the shop), she kept her lips in a slight frown, face in a bored expression, shoulders slumped, and back slightly hunched. She wore baggier clothing that made it harder to see her figure, and Charlie was just about ready to start wiping away the powder, red eye shadow, thick eyeliner, and black lipstick by mid-day.

"This sucks," she muttered, hating the stereotype she set with her disguise.

Still, she had to admit that it was hard to recognize herself in the mirror, and Ekon made sure to stay clear to keep suspicion away. He was never the one to pick up spell or charm supplies, and he never practiced magic anyway—he actually tended to stay away from it when he could. Seán got supplies twice a week and had since only been able to speak to Charlie once after dropping her off. He said he'd be able to keep in contact with her while she was in Boston, and that they were all trying to figure out what was going on with the Giltebreks and see if it was yet safe for her to return to Denver.

"_With the activity on your blog, they know you're still writing, but you're circling around a lot due to your lack of information," Seán whispered as Charlie showed him some dried herbs, telling him what certain ones were supposed to be for despite him already knowing. "Your amount of supporters also hasn't risen by much, and Mathias only mentioned Eli, not you. It's very possible they don't see you as much of a threat anymore, but we'll keep you away another week or so to be sure."_

"_And once in Denver, the story is I ran away, and Ann will watch over me and my family." Charlie raised her voice and pointed to one of the herbs she recognized. "This is marjoram, also known as joy of the mountains, wintersweet, and mountain mint. You just sprinkle a bit in each room in your home for protection."_

"_Her name will be revealed to you in Denver, but Taylor already knows her."_

"_What?" _

_This came as a shock. Teddy knew her? Just her, or had "Ann" told her anything? That wasn't likely. Was there anyone else worth trusting? Charlie knew the answer was "yes," but it was hard to swallow someone being close to her sister without her sister ever knowing. But she had done no different; that was what was so devastating. Charlie hated what Teddy was going through._

"_The marjoram sounds good, thank you." Seán gave a smile as he took a small plastic bag of the dried herb, placing it into his canvas bag. He was also purchasing some wicks, a bag of incense cones, beeswax, and some vials of various essential oils. Charlie knew that Seán was working nonstop at charms for protection and such to keep him, Ekon, and their wives and loved ones safe. Charlie could only hope they'd work._

"You're a Human, aren't you?" Andor's accented voice was cool and without accusation.

Still, it made Charlie freeze as she was kneeling by a low shelf, setting up candles and blocks of different types of wax.

Barely looking up from his book, Andor continued, "I'll say nothing as I had already agreed to house you and give you work. Even if I could not be connected, however, I'd say nothing unless directly asked by a Council worker. I do not care one way or another if Humans know the existence of magic. It may even be easier that way."

"How could you tell?" was all Charlie could think of asking right then. In her head, though, other questions sped by so fast, her mouth couldn't catch up. _Would the Council really care? Do I have some other people to worry about other than the Giltebreks? Will this make me an easier target?_

Andor turned the page of his book. "You seem to only know a few basics, showing you have not been taught by mage regulation. That by itself would not be very suspicious if you were raised on Earth, but this is a small place, and I have not seen you brewing anything to help you disguise your ears. A simple illusion spell could be used, but most prefer the potion. It's true you could be a maln-grah, but based on your reaction, it is obvious that my assumption was correct."

_Maln-grah_. Charlie had heard that term from Scarlett. It translated as 'mixed-blood' and was sometimes shortened into the derogatory term, malg. Apparently, there was still quite a bit of racism among mages, but maln-grahs were usually seen the lowest of the low next to Humans and Weres. Scarlett and Sierra considered themselves maln-grahs seeing as their grandfather was of a race called Azizir—same as Kristjana.

"Um, yeah," Charlie answered. "I'm Human."

"Thought so." Andor closed his book and headed towards the back. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. The mages on Earth tend to be isolated from the rest anyway." It sounded like he was turning on the TV, which Charlie had expected. Andor tuned in to the news every day at six o'clock.

After putting away the rest of the candles, the teenager headed towards the back, staying in the doorway. "Are you alright?" He'd sounded almost resentful. It didn't really sound like he was just angry about the laws. It sounded more personal.

With a sigh, Andor sat down on the short couch in front of the TV as a weatherman spoke about the week's forecast. "I'm alright, Claire. I just can't stand some of the politics going on, which was why I had been happy to help out Kristjana, but it seems that this planet is just as messed up as all of the others."

The dark-haired anchorwoman came on and began to get into a top news story, instantly grabbing Charlie's attention: "Since twenty-twenty-two, there have been threats of war rising between the Alliance of Free Arab Nations"—Charlie knew the AFAN consisted of Tunisia, Libya, West Iran, Iraq, Bahrain, and a few others she couldn't recall at the moment—"and the other Middle Eastern nations, many of which had formed an alliance not more than a year ago. These threats seemed to have reached an all-time high last week when a school set up by the United States in Syria was bombed, when a British compound in West Iran was attacked a mere three days ago, and now people—teachers, workers in the embassies, missionaries, and more—have been _kidnapped_ and taken hostage, saying that the AFAN is a threat to the peace of that region."

Charlie's heart fell, knowing where this was going.

The concerned-looking anchorwoman continued, saying, "Forces of Pakistan, Afghanistan, and East Iran have begun to gather as well as forces in their allied nations. They have started pushing against the boundaries, and although soldiers were sent out to hold them back…"

Knees beginning to go weak, Charlie went over to the small room set off to the right to collapse on the bed Andor was allowing her to use. Those Middle Eastern countries that had allied against the Alliance of Free Arab Nations had made an act of war. They had already cut off trade some time ago (Charlie heard about it while in Italy), and she knew that the AFAN would call for help. Ever since the first few rebellions that had caused the division within the Middle East, there had been several nations helping out the ones that had become republics or had gotten parliamentary governments.

"_You can warn your friend 'Blue' if you like. Trust me, he'll be taken care of soon enough."_

Before leaving, Spencer had relayed what Mathias had said to him, and Charlie thought about it now. _They're gonna kill him,_ Charlie thought helplessly. _They're gonna kill him and make it look like a casualty of war._

_According to Breughel  
><em>_when Icarus fell  
><em>_it was spring_

_a farmer was ploughing  
><em>_his field  
><em>_the whole pagentry_

_of the year was  
><em>_awake tingling  
><em>_near_

_the edge of the sea  
><em>_concerned  
><em>_with itself_

_sweating in the sun  
><em>_that melted  
><em>_the wings' wax_

_unsignificantly  
><em>_off the coast  
><em>_there was_

_a splash quite unnoticed  
><em>_this was  
><em>_Icarus drowning  
><em>_- "Landscape With the Fall of Icarus" by William Carlos Williams_


	34. Just Our Hands Clasped So Tight

"_Take a step forward, lads. It will be easier that way." - final words of Erskine Childers before the firing squad_

Keycard now attached to his pocket by a clip, James walked out of the restroom. _I have to assume that he'll be found in no more than ten minutes. If it's later than that, I'm good, but there's a huge possibility that it's less than that. If that's so, then… I'm screwed._

Keeping all emotion off of his face, the Witch headed towards a door as he pictured the man he had left unconscious in a stall. Coming up behind him, James had gotten him in a strangle hold. His hand had been pressed against the man's mouth to keep him from shouting out, and he had also smashed his head against the sink, forcing him into unconsciousness. He had then taken his key before dragging him into one of the stalls, sitting him up on the toilet. He also locked the door, hoping most others going in wouldn't think twice about it. James had been lucky it was still early and that no one else had been in there. Now, he was wasting no time, expression blank and shoulders back.

At one door near the end of the main hallway, James dipped his right arm slightly so the make-up brush slid out to his fingers, the bristles already covered in the powder. James had prepared it in the restroom, and he quickly dusted the keys as he swiped the card with his other hand. Clipping the card back on his breast pocket, James punched in the correct numbers—_Different from the code to get to the stairs. I knew it_, he thought—and let himself into the dark room. It looked like no one had been in here since yesterday or even the day before, and James turned on the light as he prayed that no one would come in as he searched.

The room was not very big, but there were filing cabinets running along the wall to his right, and the back wall was lined with desks and some stacks of papers and leafed-through folders. Being careful not to let anything get too much out of place, James opened the parchment-colored filing folder labeled **C Trends in NA**. It was obvious that this had to do with the climate in various places in North America. It was fairly thick, organized by region. The Witch flipped through the pages slowly enough for the camera but quick enough to get through it in time, scanning over the documents, graphs, and pictures.

"Getting this?" he whispered, brow furrowed as he went through the folder.

"All clear through the camera," Elijah assured through the earpiece, his gruff voice slightly polluted with static. "Find the folders on the other continents."

"We also must learn about the magnetic field," said Krystle. "Although, it looks like this room mainly holds weather patterns and climate trends. That is fine, but it looks like this folder is a basic overview. Other folders will possibly go into finer detail. Get to them quickly before looking for the other continents."

"Tilly's right." Elijah had that I'm-researching-as-fast-as-I-can tone to his voice. James didn't need to be able to hear the **clack, clack** of computer keys to know he was trying to figure out which nations' information would be most beneficial to find. "Start with the three most influential: the US, China, and Russia. Also look for France, the UK, Germany, and Japan."

"It'd still help to find Canada's information as well, as it is gaining more and more potential in becoming a leading superpower," Krystle added. "India, Turkey, and Brazil are also good nations, and Italy and South Korea are also rising in status in the world. However, the first three are the best to start with. Since they are so influential today, showing that they may be threatened by the Giltebreks is a great way to get attention."

James reached the final page in the folder and closed it, trying to make it seem as it had never been moved since the last person had left. "America, Russia, China…" He took a breath. "Got it. Odds are the countries are arranged by continent, so I'll probably be able to look at America and Canada at the same time." He went over to one of the four filing cabinets and opened the top. "Also, the majority of the folder I just showed you had to do with Greenland and the melting ice, so I can skip the details there."

This cabinet was filled with all the nations in North and Central America. Smiling, James took out the ones labeled **United States of America** and **Canada** and used both hands to leaf through them on the desk, standing back enough so that the camera would be able to get both at once.

"This is good." Elijah sounded pleased but edgy. "Keep this up but move onto the next room quickly. It's still early, but we want you out safely."

"At least we'll already have the information if he gets caught," whispered Krystle. It wasn't harsh and had no such intentions, but it still made James scowl as his stomach flipped. "Ow! I was only being truthful. He knew what he was putting himself up to when he volunteered to go in there."

"Doesn't mean you have to remind me," James sighed. He forced himself to take deep breaths as he scanned over the sheets. "Okay, that's it for these two. I'll find Europe next and get Russia's and France's file out at the same time."

Taking only about five minutes—though James had to admit he wasn't sure how much time had passed—James had leafed through the files of the US, Canada, Russia, France, China, and Japan. After those, Elijah suggested he move on and not spend too much time in any one room. Even a snippet of information would be better than none. The nervous man had nodded though the others couldn't see and had made sure everything was back in place before taking the brush and powder back out. He dusted the bristles before slipping the compact into his pocket, the brush going back up his sleeve.

As more sunlight began to pour in through the windows on either end of the main hall, James had gone into two other rooms. One had contained information on the oceans and water supplies, and one had contained information on tectonic activity. He'd been able to get a great amount of information, but now he and the computer geeks in his ear thought it to be a good time to leave, so he dropped the keycard under a desk in the second room. There were more people in the hallway now, but no one seemed to be giving James any second looks. Still, it was a matter of time before someone discovered the unconscious man in the bathroom stall, and James wasn't even entirely sure when he'd wake up. Crashing Haynes's head into the sink had been an extra measure, but some people managed to come to rather quickly. It all depended on his luck.

Going to the staircase, James didn't even have to call back up the code as someone came through. He only nodded in greeting as he walked around the redhead and towards the stairs. As he reached the first step, the sound of a door bursting open filled his ears like a siren. James wouldn't allow himself to run; however, he _did_ take the liberty of speeding up his stride as a deep voice bellowed, shouting about a trespasser. It sounded like some were confused—"How could anyone sneak in?" one asked—but the Witch could not linger and reached the bottom of the staircase as Elijah piped up, sounding frantic.

"Get out _now_! I don't care how, just get out of there!"

"Well, hell if I'm staying," James muttered, going towards the front way. "Windows looked to be made of bullet-resistant glass, but as word spreads, there's going to be some sort of lockdown. I would not be surprised if the guards had already been warned. I can't go out the back way, and I don't like the idea of being turned into Swiss cheese in the front."

"Find a window," Elijah ordered. "Find a window and use the two pencil detonators tucked into your boots. Place them on either side of the window. The _glass_ may be bullet-resistant, but the wall is just wood, dry wall, brick, and mortar. The detonators are packed with more than enough cupric chloride to do the job. Got your gloves?"

"No, I chucked them before running through the magnetic field yard."

"Dumbass," the Canadian hissed. "Whatever. You'll just have to deal with some discomfort climbing. Going back over shouldn't be as difficult as getting in. Where are you?"

"Heading towards the west side."

"Immanuil and Levi will be there soon to cover you."

"Alright." James took a breath. "I'm almost to the window."

"Good. Do this quickly, and don't get shot."

**XXX**

Three days. Three days with nothing from Sierra, Scarlett, Spencer, or Teddy. Still trapped in the three-room townhouse on Iona Road in Boston, Massachusetts, Charlie was isolated from everyone she knew and trusted. The Azizir that had brought Charlie here had looked to be in her mid- to late twenties but had confided that she was actually in her fifties.

The ride had been mostly quiet, but Kristjana seemed to get edgy in such situations and had tried to earn the teenager's trust by telling her stories about herself. Charlie felt she now had enough information to write a biography: Kristjana Arnardottir had what the mages called Faerie's Genesis, giving her super-pale skin that was easily burned and was sensitive to iron; purple eyes that seemed to glow from beneath her bangs; incredibly fast metabolism; a very strong immune system; and a longer lifespan—anywhere from one-hundred-seventy to two-hundred years. She was basically super-human but had made herself weaker when she was younger by smoking for a few years, which had probably set her lifespan back by a decade or two.

Kristjana was good friends with Andor, Sierra, Scarlett, and Natasha. Natasha also knew the Thompson family, and she was currently the one watching over the homesick teen. Unlike Kristjana, the Vampire looked every bit of her age of forty-nine, if not more so. Grey hair was already spun into her rust-colored curls, and there were a few lines by her eyes and mouth. She had said it was a combination of genes and stress, but she didn't elaborate on what she had done for a living other than saying she had traveled often and had made many paintings of landscapes she'd seen. According to her, she had even given a few to Kirsten Thompson and the two Thompson sisters.

Sitting at the round table in the small kitchen—connected to the den by a large archway—and looking out the window, Charlie tapped a fingertip on the wood as the screen of her laptop glared at her. The room was filled with the smell of cooking meat riddled with spices Charlie couldn't identify by smell alone. The Vampire was standing over the stove, hair up in a messy bun held in by a couple of pencils. She wore a deep green tank top and Bermuda shorts, looking casual despite her erect posture that made her look as if she were balancing a book on her head.

When Kristjana had first said they were going to see a Vampire, Charlie had pictured a sophisticated-looking person that was tall and willowy with a sultry smile that barely showed one of her fangs. Instead, she had gotten the bubbly Natasha, who was barely an inch taller than Charlie with a large bust but no hips and broad shoulders. She looked like she'd done competitive swimming once upon a time, and though she wasn't very thin, she couldn't be necessarily called fat. It looked like she was mostly muscle, able to take down someone twice her size. There was also a certain look to her green-blue eyes that said she wouldn't think twice about it either. She had a natural blush to her cheeks though, made from the woman's near-constant smiles and laughs. She sure knew how to brighten a mood.

"A pot of water doesn't boil when you stare at it," piped up Natasha as she added a mix of sliced green bell peppers and carrots to her pan, a sizzling sound following right afterwards.

"Huh?" Charlie looked over at her new guardian. She was sure Natasha once worked with Silver Wing what with her connections and vague explanation of 'travelling frequently,' but Natasha never confirmed it (of course, she never denied it either).

Using a spatula to stir around the chicken and vegetables, Natasha explained, "I know you haven't heard from anyone in a while, but not even they know where you are. Only Mr. Byrne, though he doesn't know my actual address other than 'Massachusetts.' Mr. Ri was only informed you'd be with Andor for a few days."

"And he's probably going to be sent off to the Middle East." Charlie placed her chin on her forearms on the tabletop, looking glum and guilty. Ekon was likely to be killed, and it was just for helping her. Sure, giving information to Spencer may have something to do with it, but Charlie was sure it mostly had to do with her.

With a sigh, Natasha added some green onions to the pan. "Now, don't go blaming yourself. If the bastards wanted to just kill him, they wouldn't go through the trouble of instigating a war or even a riot to do it. Wars cost money. _Lots_ of it. They wouldn't waste so much money just to kill one man. It sounds more like they've already had this war planned out—you've heard of the threats and riots and stuff going on for the past few years right?—and making it to where Mr. Ri gets sent in is just a plus. The war is just one part of their big plan, and if it means getting rid or one, two, or even more troublemakers, they find it to be some sort of gold mine. Let's just hope that the gold they find glitters."

"Yeah, I guess it sounds like them."

"Of course it does." Natasha added some sort of dark liquid to the chicken. Teriyaki sauce? "Also, don't go all narcissistic on me. It isn't all about you, Charlie. You're just one piece in play. You may not be a pawn, but you're not a king, either."

"With all the moving I have to do, I've been thinking I'm more of a queen, anyway."

A laugh came from the Vampire, fangs glistening in the fluorescent light. "More like a knight, I'd think. You get to go anywhere you want but only by a certain path drawn out long ago by people we can't even name anymore."

"You don't seem like a chess-type person to me."

"I'm not. Kristjana and some of my other friends liked to play me just so they can boost up their self-esteems with an easy win." She giggled again. "I prefer card games myself. I may suck at chess, but I'm a demon at War and Speed. I did pretty well at King Mao too once I figured out what the damn rules they were setting up were. That 'no profanity' rule nearly killed me though." She laughed again, though it didn't seem to completely reach her eyes except for a spark or two.

Waking up her laptop, Charlie looked at the document that was up, the introduction being the only words on the page. "I've never heard of King Mao, but I've played Speed once, and my friends and I played War when we got bored—well, that or Old Maid."

"I loved Old Maid, and you should try Speed with nine people and twelve decks of cards. Trust me, it's so great that way." Natasha moved the pan off of the hot portion of the electric stove. "Anyway, just trust your sister and guardians. Leorensenka and Tisanisenka will watch over them; I'm sure of it. Now come get a plate."

Natasha was already getting herself a generous helping along with some silverware. As Charlie came up to get her own plate, Natasha was already setting her meal onto her end of the table and heading towards the pantry. Charlie went to push aside her laptop and set the plate down where it had been as the Vampire brought back a bottle of wine that said Bell'agio on the front. Natasha didn't care if Charlie ever drank some of her wine, beer, or liquor, but the young girl didn't necessarily like the taste of the wines she'd tried. She also refused to go near the other stuff, sticking to water, juice, and milk. Feeling adventurous, Charlie had also tried this one tea—darjeeling?—and had nearly spat it out as soon as it touched her tongue.

Throughout her travels, Charlie had given in to the fact that she wouldn't be able to eat as much as she was used to, forcing her to lose several pounds, but she had still found herself in a place where she was able to turn herself from dishes she found too questionable or not questionable enough. Fried or grilled rodent would not pass through her lips, and she wouldn't go near anything that even _resembled_ a bug. Sierra had joked she was just another spoiled American, but Charlie didn't care. She just had standards to what was food and what wasn't. Luckily for her, Natasha was a pretty good cook, and she seemed just fine with being able to keep her teas and alcohol to herself.

"How's the essay about social class in _Great Expectations_ going?" asked Natasha when Charlie got back to the table with a glass of homemade juice, which was a mix of oranges, ginger, and some cucumber. According to the Vampire, it helped with skin texture and moisture while also helping to reduce body heat. It was pretty good, too.

"It's stress-inducing, being just another shovel of dirt on my grave." Charlie took a sip of her juice and then sighed. After some time away from her studies, Charlie didn't enjoy being pushed back into the mound of books and papers.

On the bright side, Natasha sucked at math and wasn't the best at science, so her teachings leaned more towards literature and history—what Charlie was best at. Natasha, however, still had Charlie going through arithmetic and algebra exercises all the time to keep up her skill, and she chose the book rather than Charlie writing an essay on whatever book she wanted from the library.

"Stress and schoolwork can't kill you in a matter of days," Natasha said easily, pouring wine into a tall-stemmed glass. "Besides, _Great Expectations_ is a good book, and I'm sure my highlights and notes at least helped you a bit."

"Highlights, yes; notes, no."

The older woman had worse writing than a chicken scratching ink onto a piece of paper.

Swallowing some food, the Vampire put on a thoughtful look. "Oh, yeah, that copy was from ninth grade. My handwriting was _horrible_ that year. Good thing I got better as the years went by. Whatever, that just puts you at the level I was working at, making you take your own notes. Once you're back home, I'm sure you'll end up being near the top of your class. Of course, they'll make you take tests to see where you are after so much time away from 'formal' education."

"You think I'll be able to go back—" The harsh shrill of the phone cut Charlie off.

Getting up after taking a swig of wine, Natasha headed towards the den. "That could be Ann now."

Eating some of the chicken and vegetables—how long had these carrots been in the refrigerator?—Charlie watched her temporary guardian walk over to the shelf full of books of various sizes. Next to a thick novel with Cyrillic on the spine was the silver phone, connected to the port by a curled cord.

"_Alló_?" Natasha stood with a hand on her hip, lips stretched and thin. She definitely seemed like someone who had seen her fair share of tragedy and had experienced more than her fair share of danger and fights. "Yes, things have been good. A little quiet here, but that makes it better for reading." She paused, her expression easing. "No, Kathrine won't be able to come for another few days. I can tell her you said 'hi' though if you won't be able to make it." Another pause. "Ah, yeah, she should be able to handle it. She hasn't said much about the trip, but I know she's always wanted to see the mountains." Natasha almost smiled. "Okay, I'll remind her."

The Vampire hung up and then turned to Charlie with a smile. "Start packing up Charlie. You're going home in four days. That's a Tuesday, but I still want that essay by Friday."

The fork fell from Charlie's hand back onto the plate, but Natasha interrupted her as she sat back down at the table.

"No whining," she scolded while stuffing some chicken into her mouth. After swallowing, she said, "You have my e-mail, so I expect to see that essay in my inbox. If you like, go ahead and take the book with you."

_Home,_ thought Charlie. _I'm actually going home. _"I'm going back to school, anyway. Does it matter?" Charlie took a sip of her juice.

"Something tells me you've learned more during this adventure than you had in all your years in school."

"We're not just talking about essays anymore, are we?"

"Nope." Natasha took up her glass of wine. "Think of it as a lesson in finishing what you start. It may seem miniscule now, but you need that lesson."

Charlie only nodded as she ate some more of the food. She brushed away the too-long bangs away from her right eye. "It feels surreal being able to go back home after so much time. Everything's going to change."

Natasha just sipped her wine. "It already has, and there is never anything we can do to stop that. All we can do is choose how we react to the changes."

**XXX**

Cheryl Turner. That was the name of the worker Scarlett had taken to the hotel room. She had been working at "Groom Lake" for nearly fifteen years filing folders and documents in the western building on the fifth floor. She had an ID card, which she swiped in the elevator in the western building, taking her to her assigned floor. She had no idea what happened on the other buildings or even the other floors, but her documents mostly had to do with weaponry designs and information, so she assumed that the other floors had something to do with similar subjects. There were three other workers on the fifth floor along with her, but they rarely spoke. They knew each other's names of course, but being friendly with co-workers was frowned upon—especially those that worked on different floors or in different buildings. Having always been pretty anti-social, Cheryl hadn't really minded.

Rubbing her wrists, the petite woman sat in the dark wood and pastel-colored fabric occasional chair. She hadn't been strapped to such a chair since her unwilling stay at the Mandalay Bay, but she still tended to rub her hands and wrists when around the brunette. Scarlett was now beginning to wonder if it was a tick rather than her still feeling the ropes that had once bound her wrists, ankles, and waist.

Today, Cheryl's black hair was pulled back into a bun rather than a ponytail, and her umber skin was a shade darker after the time she had taken to herself the day before. She and Scarlett had spoken by the pool in her complex, sipping drinks and wearing swimsuits to make it look completely casual. Scarlett had wanted this to move along quickly, but Cheryl was paranoid, saying the security was too tight for any kind of "rushed, half-assed scheme" to even get them passed the door.

Chocolate-colored eyes on the floor, Cheryl inquired, "Are you sure I'll be safe? Your supervisors…"

"If they couldn't keep people safe, I would have been killed a long time ago," Scarlett replied, heading over to the door when three soft knocks sounded from its direction. "Now, you're about to meet the woman I want to get into Groom Lake."

Looking back up, Cheryl watched as Scarlett opened the door, allowing her full view of the tall woman with an auburn, chin length pageboy cut; gold-brown eyes; and a slight sneer. She walked in with forced confidence in her stride, nodding to Scarlett and then locking eyes with the Area 51 worker. Cheryl gave a nod. "Taylor Smith?"

"Cheryl Turner?"

"Alright, you two know each other now." Scarlett walked over to the bed after locking the door. "Cheryl, Taylor volunteered to infiltrate Groom Lake despite the danger she'd be putting herself in. She's been listening into our conversations and has been writing them down and keeping documents. Copies were sent to those we trust, and if anything is to happen, the copies we keep will be destroyed to eliminate any concrete evidence."

"All of this was to see how I'd be able to get in," Teddy added.

The way she was sitting, she nearly resembled a marble statue. It was easy to see how all of this stress was affecting her. She was like oak, which would prove damaging in the future. She was the type of person that refused to bend, like her sister had been at the start of this journey. Teddy was sturdy, which was an admirable trait, but Scarlett knew that it was also a harmful one in this sort of life.

"That's impossible." There was a flash in Cheryl's eyes, making it look like she wanted to say, "Are you nuts or just stupid?"

Sitting up straight, she continued, "There's twenty miles around the main site until you reach the 'fence.' This fence is made of bright orange posts a few feet away from each other spread around the area, marking it off. In that twenty-mile stretch, it's free-fire. The guards are allowed—probably required—to shoot first and ask questions later. They ride around in jeeps, and there are two to three guards per jeep. I don't know how many jeeps there are, but there's likely to be from thirty to fifty of them. And about five to ten feet from the border are sensors, so the guards always know when and where someone is coming. It'd probably be easier to break into the _White House_."

"Probably, seeing as they give tours," replied Scarlett nonchalantly. "But we weren't planning on going through that way. We're crazy, but not idiots."

"Not completely," Teddy mumbled.

Ignoring her, Scarlett explained, "As I said before, I need a job opening."

"She'd need clearance first of all. Everyone that works there has either secret or top secret clearance, and almost everyone has SCI clearance." Cheryl got up and went over to the small table on the wall opposite of the queen-sized bed.

"SCI clearance?" questioned Teddy.

"Sensitive Compartmentalized Information," Cheryl informed. "In movies, they play it up like it's above top secret clearance, but it's not. It can be either secret _or_ top secret, but there are additional controls. To get to this level, we had to get an SSBI—Single Scope Background Investigation. If they get even a _whiff_—"

"They won't," Scarlett asserted, using the same look she had used on Ryan when he tried to sneak away with an extra cookie a few years ago. It was a look she had developed to hammer in that she was in control.

Looking from the door over to the brunette, Cheryl exclaimed, "Look, it's good you have confidence, but it takes at _least_ seven years to get secret and at least _ten_ years to reach top secret!" Her large eyes were wide, glittering with fear. "They catch everything in these checks, and we've even denied the _president_ information in the past. How on Earth do you think you can just hop onto the plane after filling out an application?"

"You're superiors aren't the only ones in high places," Scarlett replied calmly. It was easy to see that the African-American woman was terrified. It had been a major fight to get her to cooperate the first night, but Scarlett was seeing some wonderful progress. As the seconds ticked by, they grew closer to getting into America's most top secret facility. Ever since it was built in the early 1950's, the area had been shrouded in secrecy. At first, the American government had even denied its very existence, and it _still_ didn't show up on official maps.

Calming herself, Cheryl requested, "Explain." She then went back to the chair to sit down, crossing her left leg over her right. She looked uncomfortable, sweating in her navy pencil skirt and button-up, white blouse. The blazer had been thrown onto the bed, and her heels were by the door.

A smile brushed over Scarlett's lips, and she paid barely any mind to Teddy as she got up and headed towards the window. "We knew we'd need handholds in the government, and we do—in around twenty _different_ governments, actually. According to our new file, Taylor is Taylor Jones and has secret clearance after working in the Department of Defense. There are already people in place to put her at her boring desk job, and we have an airtight history on her. We just need to know how you got the job in the first place and if we can get Taylor in that way. If not, how?" Scarlett tried to keep eye contact, but Cheryl kept breaking it to look over at Teddy.

Although the drapes had been drawn, the woman always seemed at peace by the window. "I'm not going to hurt you, and I don't like being looked at that way. You may not trust us completely, but the feeling's mutual."

_She's gotten blunter,_ thought Scarlett. _She's not willing to beat around the bush. She's going to be a rusher. Please, O Divines, grant her patience and flexibility so she may carry out this mission. I don't want her hurt, and it'll be impossible for any of us to cover her._

Planes and helicopters that didn't belong to Area 51 weren't allowed to fly over it, so Teddy would be completely on her own. The best she'd have would be Sierra and Spencer in Rachel and Scarlett in Las Vegas.

Taking Cheryl's attention back over to her, Scarlett assured, "We can take good care of you. I can't guarantee comfort, but you'll be safe. We just need your help with this. Please."

"It'd be easier to just give me the cameras or whatever," Cheryl murmured. "Anyone new would be under immediate scrutiny."

"Is it likely Taylor would be placed on the same floor as you?"

"No. Although we're not supposed to, some of us workers have gone out drinking once or twice—usually after the burnings. It'd be more likely she'd be put on floor two or six. I don't know what they do, but they have fewer people doing it."

"Then there's your answer." Scarlett leaned back, pressing her palms onto the firm mattress to keep her upright. "Trust me; you'll be wearing a camera and microphone as well if you agree. We need as much information we can get, though, and we'll get it faster this way."

"I told you. Rushed—"

"Could get us killed," the impatient woman finished, leaning forward with her forearms on her knees, "but too slow could be just as deadly. The people in charge are moving forward, and there is no telling how much time we have left. This is the safest plan we have with the time limit that's been put in place by our own superiors. Besides, the longer she's in, the more chances there are of someone finding any holes."

"You said her history was airtight."

"Ever hear of dark matter?" Scarlett stood up. "Now, is it possible or isn't it?"

Sitting there in the chair with her eyes on the ground, Cheryl looked smaller than ever. Minutes ticked by, and Teddy turned her head as Cheryl finally spoke up: "She'll get her card with instructions in the mail in just a few days. Like anything, getting in is all about knowing the right people. I know someone who can recommend her so I won't be instantly suspected of something. Just give me an address and traits that would make them interested. Unfortunately, security's up even higher due to something that went down in a 'brother base.' She'll probably still be able to get in, but there's even more suspicion now than ever. Also, you might as well wire me up as well during the whole process. If I'm going to help you, I might as well go all the way."

'_Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -  
><em>'_Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!  
><em>_Leave no black plume as a token of that le thy soul hath spoken!  
><em>_Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!  
><em>_Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'  
><em>_Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'  
><em>_- "The Raven" (stanza 17) by Edgar Allen Poe_


	35. Keep Talking to Make Sense

"_The fear of death is the most unjustified of all fears, for there's no risk of accident for someone who's dead." - Albert Einstein_

Nine-thousand-five-hundred-sixty-two dollars. After exchanging the rest of the euros for American dollars, that was the grand total Teddy had left in the lockbox. It was now stored in Charlie's room, the cash separated into different stacks and hidden in multiple spots like inside the pillow, between pages of books, in the pockets of her jeans, _et cetera_. Gabe had said it was both in memory and a great hiding place. Who'd check the room of a child presumed dead? Of course, the Duncans knew that she was very likely alive, but Amy still refused to go in, and that was just fine with Gabe. He was often worried about the deteriorating state of his mother's mind. He'd tried to get her to go to a psychiatrist and get some anti-depressants, but Amy had never been one willing to seek outside help. She'd rather shuffle from room to room like a zombie than get help from some "quack" that didn't even really know what she was going through.

Sitting at the desk in his old bedroom, Gabe lost himself in thought. Downstairs, his mom was lying down on the couch, the stereo playing one of her relaxing CDs. Gabe could hear a few of the notes from "Moonlight Sonata" as he laid his head down on his forearms, wondering what to do. Agent Gifre hadn't interrogated him again, but the brunette knew his boss was constantly watching him. Diacona needed information, knowing that the Giltebreks were getting ready for their ultimate attack. The Duncans were caught in the middle to protect the king, but the problem was that it was unsure which king they served. Gabe knew he held no allegiance with either, but he often wondered if he had inadvertently sold his soul to one of the kings just so he could checkmate the other.

"Somebody shoot me…," Gabe muttered into his arms.

Everything was falling apart. No, it'd been falling apart for years now. It was just now that the side effects could be seen. Gabe hated the side effects, but throwing the medicine away was out of the question. That would only make things worse now. He had to put on a face for Agent Gifre and the others in the agency. He had to babysit his mom, and he had to pray to whoever may be listening that his dad would finally come back. Even if Bob was still infuriated, at least Gabe would still have the chance to talk to him. Bob may not want to listen, but that wouldn't stop Gabe from talking and doing all he could to be heard.

"Maybe then it'll all make sense." He sat up and stared at the dark monitor. The computer was turned off, and it almost became a projection screen for the man's thoughts. On the screen, he saw Diane in the doorway of his apartment, chestnut hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail. Her skin was a shade paler than usual, and there were dark circles beneath her slate-colored eyes.

Diane had gone to Gabe's apartment last week to collect Jo's things. She had barely said one word to him as she got everything, slamming the door as she left. It hadn't been as gut-wrenching as Jo's departure, but it had still hurt. Right when the wound had begun to clot, another knife had come down to make it deeper. As Gabe thought about it, he thought it felt like he was now making it worse by pouring lemon juice over it. Still though, he couldn't stop. Diane had looked at him with such disdain; it'd been like fighting Jo all over again. He missed her so much. He missed those eyes the shade of sun-baked mud pies. He missed that long, silky hair that was often highlighted with acrylic or oil paint. He missed her harsh kicks and punches as much as her passionate kisses. There had never been anything tender about her. She was fire, and Gabe had nearly snuffed her out with his lies.

Pushing the chair aside, Gabe began to head towards the staircase. His stride was more of a shuffle, muscles aching as if he had just run the marathon the other day. He didn't look in the direction of Charlie's room as he headed down the stairs, the notes of a song Gabe couldn't identify filling his ears. Still on the couch was Amy, still in the same position as she stared off into space.

"Mom?"

No answer.

"Would you like some lunch?"

Still no answer.

"I could make sandwiches or soup. I'll even heat some water for your favorite tea."

Amy only blinked, and Gabe groaned, stomping over to her. Kneeling down, he grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her up into sitting position. The troubled woman blinked in surprise. "Gabriel—"

He let go and stood up straight. "You speak. Mom, you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Gabe"—her voice squeaked from misuse—"I just can't." Tears began to build up in her eyes. Gabe was partly surprised that her body was able to spare enough water to cry.

"None of us can, but we do it anyway." He hated speaking to her this way, but he was just fed up with this depression. _He_ wasn't acting this way, and he was in the exact same position as she was. "Mom, I've got Agent Gifre breathing down my neck. He knows there's something up."

Her eyes shimmered, but Amy didn't answer.

"Think about Charlie, Mom. You don't want her to see you like this." Gabe had no idea if she was ever coming back, but he had no other plays at the moment.

"A war's coming."

"What?"

"A war's coming," Amy repeated. "I heard when PJ left the news on for me. "It'll be in the Middle East. Does that mean Diacona's winning?"

"At this point, I can't tell the difference between the two." Gabe sighed and pulled on his mom's arm, trying to get her to stand. "Come on. I'll make you some chicken noodle soup. You haven't been eating enough."

Amy ate slowly, hand shaking as she held the spoon. Her tea had hardly been touched, but Gabe was just glad she was eating. The experience had been hard on all of them, but they needed to be strong. They had to get through it and do all they could. As Amy had said, there was a war brewing, and people were already being sent in. An American embassy had already been attacked.

Would a building on American soil be next? Would that really happen again? Gabe may not have been born by the time of that fateful day—it wasn't until two months later he'd been brought into the world—but he'd learned about it in school. Could that happen again? A new World Trade Center stood, but would another building be targeted? Would it be Diacona or the Giltebreks? Which one of them was winning? Was the current war the first of their underground battles come to light? It had to be. Gabe had learned not to knock anything down as coincidence.

Whether it was Diacona or the Giltebreks, the two were bound to clash—and soon if not already. It was unknown which group currently had the upper hand. It was impossible to tell how it would all turn out, but the hope (very, very miniscule hope in Gabe's mind) was that both would end up just destroying each other. Chaos would be the wake of any outcome at this point, but those that had first instructed Gabe and Amy on what to do had enough optimism to believe there was enough good in the world that the chaos coming from Diacona and the Giltebreks destroying each other would end up settled. Things would never go back to normal, but James and those he worked with were confident that they would begin to get better.

For the brunette twenty-four-year-old, however, he had never been much of an optimist. He even remembered speaking to James nearly three years ago in his apartment while Jo was at her job in the café.

"_Are you guys really sure that when they kill each other off, things will actually get better?" Gabe inquired, skeptical. "Both Diacona and the Giltebreks have their hands in many of the nations' governments. By what you've told me, even cabinet members—and possibly Vice President Johansson—are part of one group or the other."_

_James gave a nod of understanding to Gabe's uncertainty. "I really do believe that there's enough good people out there to sort things out when this is all over. It will not take days or weeks or months of course. It may not even take years. Heck, I may be surprised if things begin to look up after a mere decade. _

"_But I remember this essay I read in high school. It was 'Our Noble, Essential Decency' by Robert A. Heinlein. It was a very informal and short essay, but it spoke to me. He said that all we heard of was the bad things in our world, making more and more people pessimistic. But Heinlein said, 'For every criminal, there are ten-thousand honest, decent, kindly men. If it were not so, no child would live to grow up.' He also said, 'I believe almost all politicians are honest. For every bribed alderman, there are hundreds of politicians—low paid or not paid at all—doing their level best without thanks or glory to make our system work. If this were not true, we would never have gotten past the thirteen colonies.'"_

"_Sounds like an idealist to me." Gabe still wasn't convinced._

"_Maybe our world needs more idealists. The one that came up with this whole plan in the first place is a realist. Realists and idealists need each other to balance out, but to do that, they need to stop butting heads."_

"_Does _she_ believe that the world will get better after all this?" Gabe knew James was talking about Lynn, but he knew that wasn't her real name._

"_Not really," James admitted with a sigh, "but she knows it's our only real option. She's _hoping_ for better, though. That's a start, don't you think?"_

As he still ate his turkey sandwich, Gabe watched as his mom set down the spoon and took a sip of Earl Grey. Just as she liked it, Gabe had added only a bit of low fat milk and a single spoonful of sugar. He had no idea how that stuff could taste good, but his parents had always been weird. He was just glad she was getting something into her stomach. She'd been getting skinnier, and her skin was pale and dry. For the past week, she hadn't worn any make-up, and her hair fell limp around her face, grime drowning the roots and making her hair look matted. This was not a way for a person to live, and Gabe hated seeing his mother like this. She had always been confident to the point of being egocentric; she always took longer than even Teddy to get ready and perfect her look; she was always so passionate and hit her emotions with an extreme note; and she never backed down from a challenge.

_That_ was Amy Beatrice Blankenhooper Duncan. This numb woman sitting in front of Gabe was a stranger wearing her skin.

Setting down his sandwich, Gabe went to drink some of his coke when the doorbell rang.

_Who on Earth could that be? _Gabe wondered. PJ had a key, and Gabe wasn't expecting his dad to come back anytime soon no matter how much he hoped and prayed. "Keep eating, Mom." The man didn't wait for her to respond as he left the kitchen and grabbed the revolver from the drawer beneath the stereo. He held it in both hands and crept towards the door, keeping to the side and turning to where he became a smaller target.

Upon reaching the door, he stayed by the frame and leaned forward slowly until he could look out the peephole. It was Allison, wearing a smile as she had her hands rest on her nearly nonexistent hips. Her hair was pulled back in a French braid, and she wore another one of her tank tops—blue this time. Behind her was someone much taller than she was, but the person wore a short-sleeved, dark hoodie and black fishnet hobo gloves. The hood was pulled up, and his or her—the shirt was too baggy and long to tell the gender—head was down as if ashamed. Quickly, Gabe backed away and put the gun into the drawer in the tall stand by the door.

"Come in," Gabe said curtly as soon as he opened the door. Once both people were inside, Gabe shut the door and relocked it, including the two chains that had been installed just three years ago.

"Paranoid much?" Allison asked in that usual joking tone. As she spoke, her head was tilted slightly. She also smiled from ear to ear as if about to burst with good news. What kind of news could possibly be good _now_, Gabe didn't know.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Gabe demanded, "What? I've been busy, and I'm stressed and in no mood to play anything. You can't even _guess_ the kind of shit-storm that's been raging."

Allison shrugged. "Then consider me your umbrella delivery person." She turned her eyes to the person—a girl Gabe could now tell—to her right. "Go ahead."

Lifting her head, the girl pulled down her hood, revealing a very familiar face, but it was framed with a long pixie cut with sweeping bangs that covered most of the right side of her face. Her hair was peppered with different shades of brown, and her eyes were dull-brown. It took nearly a minute to recognize where he'd seen that face before, but he couldn't believe it.

_No_. His mouth was open, and tears began to prick his eyes like needles.

"Don't you recognize me, Gabie?"

The voice. That was it, and as soon as it sliced through the air, a chair in the kitchen toppled over as something clattered onto the floor—probably the shatter-proof bowl.

Gabe could now only stare, a tear finally set free. As soon as it began to slide over his cheek, the swinging door to the kitchen flew open, Amy leaning against the frame with wild eyes as tears flowed down her pale cheeks. "Charlie?"

The girl looked her way and smiled as her eyes shimmered. She then ran over to Amy and gave her a hug. Trembling, Amy held her back and sobbed as Gabe went over to them, forgetting about Allison. He joined in the reunion, tears falling freely. _I can't believe it. She's actually home…_

**XXX**

There was only so much Spencer could take of Sierra, but now he was stuck with her in a trailer in Rachel, Nevada. The total population of the town was just under one-hundred, sometimes making Spencer wonder if it really could be called a town. It was located on the Extraterrestrial Highway, and all kinds of alien-related souvenirs could be found in the different stores. It was only a few degrees cooler than Las Vegas, but Spencer already had bites on his legs and a few on his arms from bugs he was not used to having to worry about. For the past twelve days, Spencer and Sierra had been staying in the thirty-foot trailer in a camping site known as the "Black Mailbox." Apparently, it'd been a place many people gathered in to look out for UFOs in the 1990's. It was also close enough to Area 51 that the computers could be watched and help could be delivered to Teddy if need be.

Ever since the meeting between Scarlett, Teddy, and Cheryl in that motel, they had started setting up. Cheryl had agreed to wear a microphone, listening device, and camera right away, and nothing had gone wrong so far. Nearly a week after she started gathering data for them, Teddy—or Taylor Jones—had been given a job on level two of the eastern building. It was a different building than Cheryl, but that detail hadn't been unwelcome. On the contrary, Sierra believed it helped; Cheryl and Taylor were complete strangers.

Back in Las Vegas was Scarlett, manning the computers in the house. The three weren't as skilled as Seán or Ekon, but Sierra and Scarlett knew enough to be able to relay the information to them as well as five others. As far as Spencer had been able to gather, two were in Australia, one was in Scotland, one in China, and one in Poland. Each was supposed to keep copies and send the originals to more people, including politicians and the media. It'd make the United States look horrible, but that wasn't anything new in Spencer's opinion.

_Though this is much worse than everything else we've been accused of one-thousand-fold._ He swallowed and stared at the screen that presented what Teddy was seeing in the hallway that could have been mistaken for any other office hallway. There were no windows, the floor was linoleum, and there were doors on either side. Teddy was only able to enter five of the rooms, but she'd only been allowed to enter three when she first started. They were making progress, and Spencer hoped she could keep it up.

It was great that a new driver's license and passport with her new picture could be passed as the real things. Sierra's "best guy" had been recommended to her and her mother by a friend, but, unfortunately, he lived in the Netherlands. He made the best ID's though, so Sierra had sent him an encrypted e-mail with a picture of Teddy's new look the day after Teddy had spotted Cheryl. Scarlett wished they had thought of the disguise sooner, but Teddy hadn't been coming back to the safe house anyway. She'd been staying in a motel room, in constant communication with the rest of them.

Suddenly, Teddy turned and swiped her card in the device by one of the wooden doors. Inside, the small room was well-lit and had a large desk and five different filing cabinets. At the desk was a co-worker: Martin Parks. He put a folder together with his moss green eyes focused on the work. He made no indication of hearing Teddy enter the room or shut the door. She went to one of the cabinets and put in a folder into the appropriate spot while taking out another. At the moment, she was given the names of certain files to organize, retype, or just go through and make sure nothing had been tampered with. This file was labeled **Daytime Stealth Aircraft**. It wasn't a very thick folder, but the information could be very valuable none the less.

Going over to the desk, Teddy didn't even bother to take a seat as she set down the folder and began to leaf through it, making sure it was out of direct view of Martin. She didn't go slow enough to raise suspicion, but she did well enough so Spencer could get good still shots of each page.

"You're quiet and keep to yourself," observed Martin. His voice was gruff with the smoking he'd been reported to do before and after work.

Without answering, Teddy gave a nod as she flipped to the last page. She only paused for a fraction of a second before closing the folder and putting it back in the right place.

"A perfect person to work here."

Teddy closed the drawer. "You make it sound like a bad thing."

"It's not, but most people here go through hell trying not to tell their family about where they work and what they do."

Opening up another drawer, Teddy whispered, "I have no family to tell."

**xxx**

It was nearing the second week of September. Teddy and Cheryl had been going in five days a week, and all of the information was being sent out. With each passing day, the anxiety grew. When would they be caught? How long could they keep this up? The questions never seemed to be about how they would celebrate or how perfectly things were going. Whether they thought that would jinx it or they just didn't fully believe they had gotten away with it completely, though, Spencer had no idea. They just went through it though, and Teddy wore her lucky charm every day she had been going to Area 51. She wore it under her blouse, and Spencer had only seen it once. It had looked like a curved canine from some large carnivore made of wood, but the woman had called it a cornicello.

"_I've never seen you wear that before." Spencer stood in the doorway. Teddy was going to move into the motel soon, and she was tucking the charm beneath her powder blue tank top. "Where's it from?"_

_Teddy heaved the duffel bag onto her shoulder. "Sierra's husband carved the charm, and Scarlett gave me the chain." She didn't look to be in the mood to talk._

_Swallowing, Spencer stepped into the room. "How are you holding up with all of this?"_

_She shrugged. Lately, the journalist had noticed she'd been much quieter, always wearing a blank expression. "It's not like I have any choice but to keep going."_

_Her voice seemed to hold no emotion. She was defeated by the life she had been shoved into. Spencer swore he felt his heart begin to break. "Teddy…"_

"_Please don't start with me, Spencer."_

"_I wasn't about to—"_

_Something flashed over her eyes, but it wasn't anger. What was it? Pleading? "Stop. I'm about to risk my life for a cause I barely know anything about. I'm more than a little stressed right now."_

_She went to walk around him, but Spencer grabbed her in a tight hug as he whispered, "You can't keep this 'tough girl' act much longer Teddy." He felt her go rigid. "You're pushing yourself to your breaking point. I can't stand to do nothing as you just keep going."_

_There was silence, but she began to shudder as if holding in sobs. "Please let go." Her voice cracked. "I feel fine. There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine."_

She wasn't fine. Spencer knew she wasn't, and she knew he knew. She just hadn't been able to admit her true emotions, even though it was more than obvious. As Spencer had said, she'd been pushing herself closer and closer towards her breaking point. All Spencer could do was watch a screen and send still shots of the document pages to whoever Sierra told him to. The woman was usually just as emotionless as Teddy's expression that day before she moved to the motel, but she was much calmer.

How could she stay so calm? It was only once or twice Spencer had actually seen her show actual feelings. Was it because she had been at this longer than he and Teddy had? Was there hope for them? He hoped so, but he was usually loath to speak to her—at least anything on a deep level.

"What…?" Sierra quickly looked over one of the stills. "Damn, I can't believe we've been sitting on these plans and designs while they keep sending men out to risk their lives!"

Spencer shrugged. "At this point, most of them are probably for show while they fight from afar. If the other side knows they can do this, they'll have more people coming over here to steal the designs."

"I wonder of the whole Rosenberg-thing was planned…" Sierra drummed her fingers on the desk. It was beginning to grate on Spencer's nerves.

"The…"

"Basically, it was an incident with the Soviet Union getting their hands on information about the atom bomb, making it to where they were able to build their own."

"Why would anyone in charge allow for the enemy to get their hands on a weapon of mass destruction?"

"Think about it: the US and USSR were the top two most powerful countries in the world. Don't you think someone would have gotten the idea of having the two as allies—even secret allies—rather than fighting?"

Spencer could only nod. It made sense. That was the problem with so many of these conspiracy theories. They made sense in some way or other. He had to now accept that the Giltebreks were real, but that didn't mean everything else was true as well, right? At least he hadn't heard Sierra or Scarlett rant about the CIA covering up Kennedy's assassination. He was sure he'd just leave and take the chance of fending for himself at that point.

Through the screen, Spencer saw Teddy leave the room after putting the file back. As the door closed, Spencer's heart fell. There were two men standing by the door, waiting for Teddy.

**XXX**

It felt as if Teddy's heart tried to punch its way out of her chest when she caught sight of the two men. They had never been on this floor before—to Teddy's knowledge—and they wore grim expressions. The one on the left spoke first, his deep voice making Teddy want to shudder.

"Ms. Jones, please follow us." His full lips were pulled into a straight line, but the bleakness could be seen through his dark brown eyes. It was apparent that this one did not enjoy his job but was smart enough to follow orders. The other, however, held only focus in those ice blue eyes.

"Yes, of course." She was conscious that the second man with the short, light brown hair, waited for her to take several steps forward before he followed her, sandwiching her between the two of them. The one behind her was only a few inches taller than she, but the regretful man in front of her looked to be maybe six-four or six-five. Teddy knew not to ask what was going on. The answer would come soon enough, and she made sure to keep her steps calm and professional, her heels quiet against the thin carpet.

"Teddy?" It was Sierra's voice, deep in her ear canal. "Teddy, don't panic."

_I know,_ she thought irritably.

Sierra continued, "We're leaving the trailer now." There was a buzz and then silence. The earpiece had been shut off, and it was likely her camera and microphone had been shut off as well. Sierra and Spencer now had to erase all the data and quickly erase their existence before coming for her.

She was led to the elevator—a place she never went except for when it was time to leave. She knew that the three watching the monitors had to be freaking out by now, and Teddy wondered if Cheryl had been caught as well. She'd been on the plane this morning, and she wondered if they were being brought in together. Teddy knew it had something to do with her history. As Scarlett had said, it was airtight, but there was always the possibility of dark matter. She was just surprised they didn't shoot her already. Maybe they wanted her away from her co-workers. Like the one that had spoken to her that one day—Martin.

"I have no family to tell," she had said. It'd been mostly true. Teddy had given up on the possibility of seeing her family again. The only consolation for her was that Charlie may get to go back home someday. PJ's song ran through her head once more, and she came close to tears. She sucked them in, however. She couldn't cry. Not here.

"_Are you okay?" Spencer asked, concern in his dark eyes. He was waiting to use the bathroom, and remnants of some steam rolling around Teddy as she stood in an oversized T-shirt and shorts._

_Pushing still-damp hair out of her face, Teddy nodded. "My eyes still sting from that shampoo."_

_Spencer gave a nod but didn't seem to really believe her. "What was that song you were singing? I've never heard it before."_

"_PJ wrote it while I was in Austria."_

"_It's a really nice song." He looked almost as uncomfortable as Teddy felt._

"_Yeah. Well, g'night." She began to walk past him when he touched her wrist. It felt like he'd been about to grab her but had second-guessed himself._

"_Um… well, if you need to talk…"_

_Teddy turned away from him. "I don't." She walked towards her room but stopped near the entryway. "But thanks."_

The blue-eyed man pushed the button to take them to ground level. None of them said anything as the lift shuddered and began to descend, Teddy's heart pounding. Still, she wouldn't allow it to show on her face. She had only ever allowed herself to cry when washing, tears mixing with the water that could never seem to get hot enough. Even when her skin flushed and prickled, it wasn't enough. Only straight out of the kettle would she feel like she had to gasp for breath—though from the heat or her sobs it was never clear.

Talking to either of the Thompson sisters was out of the question, and talking to Spencer would have been just plain awkward. She and Charlie had spoken while in D.C., but that was usually just a one-sided conversation. Charlie hardly let Teddy one word in as she blurted everything out, whether in tears or rage. Teddy had to be the adult and just console her little sister. It wasn't like she ever felt like returning the favor, anyway. Charlie was only fourteen. She needed more comfort. Teddy could handle it. She was twenty-eight (no, twenty-nine?). She had her own apartment and had been on the road to getting her masters in international studies. She'd been abroad. She could do this.

After high school, Teddy had been forced to grow up. Putting college on hold, she had decided to make the world a better place by helping out. She had been sent to Peru, and there was no time to be a kid there. Seeing all of those homeless children, hoarding anything and everything they had the virtue to call theirs… It was so heart-breaking. It had also been a major wake-up call for the happy-go-lucky blonde. In Peru, many of the children had gathered around her, calling her pretty. She had loved playing with them and offering them the candy and toys she had brought with her.

Back in Denver, she had been a spoiled little princess. There was always something else out there that could make her happier than she already was. A better cell phone, cuter clothes, nicer jewelry, prettier shoes… The list went on. Watching those kids so ecstatic with old toys from her attic and bits of hard candy had made Teddy tear up. Those reactions were what had motivated her to get up early every morning and not get to bed until late every night. It were those smiles that had made her want to work until she was drenched in sweat and felt like every muscle was screaming. Soon, Teddy had begun to smile as well over the small things. She remembered how ecstatic she'd been over the opening of the new orphanage she had helped build.

As the elevator came to a stop, the African-American man gestured for her to follow him down a narrow hall branching off to the left. "Right this way, Ms. Jones."

_I can get through this_, Teddy thought surely.

However, she did not actually feel so confident. As Cheryl had said, the compound was surrounded by twenty miles (all around) of "free-fire" space. No one would think twice about shooting her. Still, Teddy had to wonder which was worse: dying in a room on the compound or dying in the desert? Or would they let her go and kill her in the motel? Teddy did not give much thought on the last one. Letting her go meant giving her time to escape. That meant risking information getting out.

_Why bother keeping secrets if you're a dead man walking?_ she asked herself.

At the end of the hallway was a door. It was metal and had a horizontal bar the man in front pushed to open and allow sunlight to flood in. He held it open for Teddy, and it felt like her heart was beating harder, though in her throat this time.

_I'm gonna die; I'm gonna die!_ she thought in desperation. She couldn't die! She didn't want to die, but, walking into the sunlight as the door closed behind the second guy, the possibility seemed even more real than ever. This was her death row, but she doubted she would be getting a final meal of her choice.

**Clack, clack**. Teddy focused on the sound of her heels as the first man jogged up back in front of her. His thick-soled boots were quieter on the concrete, and Teddy allowed her eyes to dart about. She saw her building and the north and south farther away on their respective sides (the southern building was the newest and held the most rumors of what information it held). Farther back was the western building, which Cheryl worked in. Between it and the southern building was where the plane they commuted on was parked, along with a few jets. The buildings had to be up to fifteen miles away from the center building. The layout was a perfect square, and jeeps patrolled the place, occasionally leaving to check any disturbances at the perimeter. A few others very likely wandered around aimlessly, looking for trouble that they figured would never happen.

A tan-colored jeep with no overhead cover (like all the others) was parked not far from the door exiting the eastern building, and Teddy was issued into the passenger's side as the brunette got behind the wheel and the other in the back. He looked to be on guard as the jeep started, and Teddy made up her mind, noticing that the driver's holster was within her reach. It was likely a Glock, like what she had trained with, and as they began to turn, Teddy made the move.

It was swift and without hesitation as she'd practiced. Before the man could react, the bullet had already penetrated his chest, between the fourth and fifth rib, angled towards his heart. Teddy was not sure if it made it to that organ, but she was sure his lung had been punctured, which was enough. Before the other could even reach for his own gun, Teddy kicked the driver at the hip, forcing him out and turned her gun at the African-American.

_Sorry_. Before that thought had finished running through her mind, she pulled the trigger. There was a flash and loud **clap**, like a storm before the man slumped over, blood gushing from the hole just above his ear. His eyes and mouth were open wide as he fell, but Teddy took no time to take anything in before sliding over behind the wheel and gunning it, gun cast into the passenger seat so as to grip the wheel more firmly.

There were shouts of surprise, but it seemed that most were too shocked before the chaos could start. Teddy was nearing the edge of the concrete foundation when shots could be heard, but she kept her head low and gripped the wheel tightly. There'd be no way she'd be able to drive and shoot at the same time. All of her focus had to go into getting away. Alive.

Teeth clenched, she pushed the jeep towards eighty. Then ninety. Then one-hundred. The speedometer said the vehicle could go up to one-twenty, but it was tough keeping the wheel steady. The ride felt unstable, like any stray movement would flip her over and be her end.

The shots from behind were like thunder ringing through Teddy's ears as she forced herself to breathe and pray that she'd get out of there. _Just twenty miles. Just twenty miles until I see Sierra or Spencer._

The two would be on motorcycles. They knew her location. They'd come for her. She knew they would.

But would they make it in time?

_They have to_, Teddy told herself, refusing to let her mind slide into doubt. She had neither the time nor focus for doubt. All that mattered was getting away. Even when she reached the fence, she'd still be a target. They would still be after her, and she would be chased after until caught. She had just _killed_ two men.

Killed them…

_Stop it!_ Teddy ordered herself. Whatever guilt may come, she would deal with it later. Right now, it was her own life she needed to worry about.

A needle-prick.

Actually, it barely even felt like _that_. It faded quickly. Arm? Teddy felt a bit of air. A bullet must have skimmed her, but she couldn't think about that now. It was just one. She was breaking one-hundred, and her head was low. After all those visits to the shooting range with Sierra and Scarlett, Teddy had seen that shooting was trickier than it looked. Long-distance especially, and that was standing still. The only way that one of the bullets could have skimmed her would have either been very good luck for the shooter or very bad luck for Teddy. She hoped it was the former. There had been many jeeps from what she'd seen before making the escape, so they had numbers on their side. Still, Teddy found hope in the knowledge that it would take a miracle for many bullets to reach her.

Paradise.

That orange post was the gateway into paradise. Teddy's foot was already pushing the pedal down as far as it could go, but she willed it to go farther, the jeep faster. The rate of her breathing grew, and a smile actually broke at the sight of a black, blue, and silver Kawasaki Ninja with a rider donned in all black, including the helmet. He raced towards her, slowing down so that they could meet. Teddy began to slow as well, praying that the two of them would get away.

Once the jeep came to a crawling pace, the motorcycle was close enough, stopped to where Teddy should be able to get out of the jeep and onto the back of the bike as safely as possible. Teddy jumped from the jeep, twisting her ankle and breaking a heel. Pain flared, but the adrenaline rushing through her veins numbed it quickly. She took Spencer's hand, ready to leap up and get away from this hell.

That was when five different guards took the shot.

Some of the guards had been closer than Teddy had hoped and prayed.

In a fraction of a second, Spencer shifted to where he took the bullets, only two out of five hitting him. Unfortunately, it seemed that Fortune had refused to grant him her blessings. The bullets were imbedded into his chest, one in the left lung and the other in the diaphragm.

"Go." It was hard to hear through his helmet, and before Teddy could object, Spencer pushed himself off of the motorcycle.

There was no time to hesitate. There was another needle prick—a pull at her waist, above her left hip.

By the time the tears had come, Teddy was already pushing the Ninja faster and faster, blasting past the orange posts and towards the road. She worked the throttle, forcing herself to remember what an old boyfriend from her second year in college had taught her about motorcycles. She needed to get away as quickly as possible and make it to the place that had been set up beforehand.

It was hard to see going so fast, forcing Teddy to squint as she kept her head down.

_Get away. Get away._

Mourning over Spencer would wait. He wouldn't want Teddy to get caught just because she was distracted by thoughts of him.

_Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,  
><em>_Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,  
><em>_Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,  
><em>_And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade; _

_Since it was given to me to hear on happy while,  
><em>_The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,  
><em>_Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,  
><em>_Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes; _

_Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,  
><em>_A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,  
><em>_Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,  
><em>_Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days; _

_I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,  
><em>_Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,  
><em>_Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,  
><em>_One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold. _

_Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill  
><em>_The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;  
><em>_My heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill,  
><em>_My soul more love than you can make my soul forget  
><em>_- "More Strong Than Time" by Victor Hugo_


	36. Handfuls of Dust and Splinters of Bone

"_Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." - 1 Corinthians 13:7_

As he sat alone in the living room with his left arm in a sling and crutch leaning against the wall next to him, James's eyes shone dull white-grey. This was the color of being unsure. He should have one pale red eye and one russet eye (triumph) or maybe electric blue eyes (excitement). He should be at least relieved. Instead, he had only gone through two emotions since waking up a little over a week ago: confusion and astonishment.

Now, he was unsure, and everyone had been willing to let him be to sort things out.

Correction: everyone but Krystle, the crazy busy-body. She'd been forced away by the others time and time again, but now it was time for everyone to leave and carry out their remaining duties. Immanuil had copies of the information hidden, the computers wiped of all data, off, and unplugged. Other copies had been sent to others in six countries including the US. Elijah had left back for Alberta while Levi headed towards a friend in Japan. The eldest brother had left as soon as he was satisfied James was alright, but the other hadn't left until five days later.

"_I thought I told you not to get shot," said Elijah, coffee-colored eyes twinkling with relief as James awoke._

_James tried to give the maln-grah the finger, but every one of his muscles screamed in protest. He could barely sneer, but at least he was alive. He knew Elijah was only joking with him, and it was great to be able to be here for the pleasure (or, sometimes, displeasure). Unfortunately, the pain was so intense, James briefly wondered if death was so bad after all. It even hurt in places where he knew he hadn't been shot. His entire torso hurt like he was being pressed to death, his legs felt like someone was throwing rocks at them, and the pain seemed to travel through his veins, setting fire to his nerves as it went._

"_Just lie down," said Elijah, motioning for someone to get something. "Levi's getting the pain meds. Just praise the Divines you're alright."_

Krystle had left for Denver three days ago, claiming Alec missed Allison terribly. This left the Witch and Vampire alone together, but the latter tended to spend most of his time in either his bedroom or studio. He'd fix some food for James, but he never said much. That suited James just fine, leaving him time to try and sort everything through.

He remembered the morning of the mission. He remembered knocking that man unconscious. He remembered said man waking up later. He remembered having to escape, but everything else was mostly blank until he woke up in the house, the sheets stained under him. Immanuil and Elijah had done their best, but it had been a day before a doctor that had agreed to a pledge of silence had arrived to work on James, taking out those two bullets and cleaning the wounds. There had been arguing among the doctor and the others about James's location. The doctor had often raised his voice, saying that James needed to be in a hospital. Immanuil would then refute that the room had been thoroughly cleaned, and though it wasn't hospital-grade, it would have to be something James would need to deal with.

The doctor had then been forced to concede and just do what he could to keep James alive. There'd been much blood lost, but he was type AB, the "universal recipient". It hadn't been too hard to get him blood, though it'd been tricky in the room built in the back of the cabin. It'd been a hellish first few days, but the doctor was positive that James would pull through.

"_Just _please_ check yourself into a hospital when you can," the doctor implored, turquoise eyes shining with deep concern James sometimes thought to be rare among people. "You should be fine, but make sure. My biggest concern was that you would catch an infection. I'd like you to make sure something hasn't gotten into your system."_

_James did his best to smile, feeling exhausted. "Yes, of course."_

According to everyone, James had been shot three times as he climbed the fence. If not for Levi with this wand or Immanuil with his sniper, James would have died right there. Apparently, one bullet had caught him in the shoulder as soon as he made it to the fence—luckily, it'd been a through-and-though. Another had clipped his hip, and one got him in the right calf. It hadn't been deep, but there had been enough blood loss that James had blacked out barely three feet away from the forest. Levi had then gone to get him, taking a bullet in the shoulder as he dragged James into safety.

"_It's nothing." Levi merely shrugged his good shoulder and smiled in that childlike way he usually did. "You would have done the same for me."_

Leaning back in the couch, James ran a hand through his hair, which was back to dark brown. The temporary dye had been washed out days ago, and James had been working his muscles little by little, stretching his limits and trying to speed his recovery. Only, his limits sometimes seemed to enclose around him—_suffocate_ him.

After getting back home, James would go to the hospital as the doctor had pled. Denver was a big city, and the crime rate had begun to rise in the last few years. All he had to do was say he had been in a certain neighborhood, and "gang" would be the first thing to pop into doctors' minds. The police would be called in, but he could handle that. All he had to do was say he couldn't really remember the attack, which was mostly true.

"Lunch?" Immanuil stepped from his studio, washing his hands using a wipe. He had paint splatters over his old T-shirt and jeans, the same outfit he always wore when painting or working on pottery.

Not even looking at the Vampire, James replied, "Sure."

"Soup? Chowder? Burger?"

"I don't think I can handle a burger yet, but chowder sounds fine." James hadn't been able to eat any heavy foods since awakening, so he had been sticking to soups, bread, and crackers. He hated having to stick with bland food, but he figured it wasn't the most uncomfortable thing in the world. He'd trade his precious curries and spices for the ability to walk without a crutch in a second. Unfortunately, as the cruel, cruel universe usually dictated, he was currently forced to abandon both.

"Tea?" Immanuil could be heard rummaging through the cupboards. As a recluse, he was used to only getting enough food for himself. Krystle had been more than happy to go to the store two towns over while in the house, but they had started running low again, and Immanuil didn't really plan on leaving James alone just yet. Both figured they could eat less than usual for a few more days.

"Black, please."

"Russian, German, or English?"

"German." James stretched his good arm over his head. "With mint."

The two men were silent after that, and James heard running water. The Witch tried to keep his mind off of everything, but he could only think about what was going to happen later. War was on the horizon. James had seen the story in the newspaper. He could only think about how it was going to get worse—much worse.

Soon, James began to hear the gurgling of coffee. Although Immanuil kept an array of teas, he preferred coffee, which James couldn't keep down yet. He sighed, taking in the rich scent. He even missed Allison's coffee. He missed his new home, even though he had before wanted nothing more than to return to Paloñera, his birthplace. It was a mountainous, small country known for its spectacular views and trails wonderful for hiking, biking, and camping. James remembered that there were always tourists around, and Paloñera was very racially diverse. James missed it, but he had begun to fall in love with his new home. He had realized he was willing to do anything to save it, including risk his life.

Within a half-hour, lunch was ready, and Immanuil brought a tray with two shallow bowls of soup and two steaming cups over to the coffee table. The table had been pushed closer to the couch James sat on so he wouldn't have to reach too far forward, and he grabbed the cup of dark-colored liquid, fresh-picked mint floating at the top. In a corner of Immanuil's kitchen, he had large pots of some herbs beneath a heating lamp.

"Thanks." James took a sip from the light grey cup. "Ack."

"Yes, James,"—Immanuil spoke as if talking to a three-year-old—"tea is _hot_."

Glaring at the Vampire, James set the tea down before taking up his spoon. "I should be able to get on a plane by next week."

"Like hell you're getting on a plane," Immanuil mumbled before taking a sip of his drink. The smell of the strong coffee seemed to tease James. "I will be driving you to Vancouver. From there, you'll be riding with a friend to Portland, who will also catch a train with you to a city in California, where you'll ride with another friend on a bus to Phoenix, then to Boulder City. Allison and Krys will meet you there and take you back to Denver."

Travelling that way was a pain in the neck, but James had learned to live with it. "Alright. How soon can I leave?"

Was Immanuil frowning in concentration or because he'd actually been getting used to having people around? James would put more bets on the former, but he'd had people surprise him before.

After taking a long sip from his coffee, Immanuil replied, "Next Thursday."

**XXX**

Using the palm of his left hand, Seán blocked Sierra's punch, his other hand clutching her wrist. The green-eyed man with three-day-old stubble sidestepped away from her knee trying to land a blow into his ribcage, and he spun her around using her own momentum. This forced her into the Buckingham-style couch as Seán's knees banged against the side of the coffee table. He held down his wife, knee pressed by her stomach as he fought to keep her down so she'd stop throwing punches. She always got like this when she could find no other outlet for her raging emotions, and Seán sometimes wondered why he bothered to put up with it. His thick brows knitted together as his teeth kept grinding to keep back any and all harsh comments towards Sierra's behavior. Screaming at her did not make her stop—the Elf had learned that the hard way. Sierra had to be constrained and forced to stop. Someone looking in might think that Seán was abusing his wife, but anyone that knew them knew that this was the only way to handle the hot-tempered woman.

"Let the _fuck_ go!" Sierra's already-foul mouth got even fouler when upset, and Seán felt his heart throb as he looked on his struggling wife as tears finally began to break through, dampening her long lashes.

Pushing her down harder, Seán grunted, "Tell me."

"LET _GO_!" she shrieked, ignoring the demand. "LET THE FUCK GO SO I CAN KICK YOUR RIGHTEOUS ASS! LET _GO_ YOU PURE-BLOOD BASTARD!"

Her eyes stayed closed, and she was screaming though clenched teeth. She didn't want to cry. That much was obvious. Sierra hated to cry, often associating it with weakness. The poor woman had been forced to grow up at an early age, resulting in her childlike behavior now in adulthood. She hardly ever listened to reason at first, and she always preferred fists over words anyway. Seán had gotten many bruises over the years, and there had been the time he had ended up dislocating Sierra's left shoulder as he tried to get her off of him and onto the floor. That'd been the time Ryan and Fallow had been sent off to their grandparents for protection. Seán had walked away with a bloody nose and a sore jaw, and neither had wanted to go to the hospital and explain what had happened.

"_Tell me_," Seán ordered more forcefully. "Get it out, Sierra. You'll just explode if you don't."

"EXPLODE? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU CALL _THIS_?" she cried, chest heaving as she tried to get her breathing under control. After several gasps, she squeaked, "It should have been me."

Relief began to flow over Seán, but he didn't let up his grip. "What do you mean?"

He needed to get her talking. He needed to get her to let it all out. She needed to hear it all out loud. She needed to heal. That was what Seán felt she truly needed to become human again: to heal. That was why she had so much trouble feeling guilt now. She kept everything bottled inside to where it just burned out her mind, spirit, and soul. She needed those three to heal. She needed to become whole again, and Seán was willing to give everything to get her there.

Although her eyes were squeezed shut, the tears kept streaming down her freckled cheeks. Her hair was frizzed, random locks stuck to her head, neck, and shoulders with sweat. Her lips were red from biting them, and her arms shook as she cried. Her chest fell and rose in jerks, breathing shallow and jagged. Seán allowed her to cry as he held her in place. Once it looked like she would no longer fight back, he eased his grip and brought her up. He then sat down and brought her head to his lap. He stroked her rat's nest of hair, and his other hand stayed on her stomach. Lips pulled into a straight line, he held her in place.

It was only after minutes had passed by Sierra could finally speak: "It should have been me, Seán. Spencer shouldn't have been the one to die." She began to lift one arm to come up to her face and wipe away her tears, but it just fell back by her chest. "He shouldn't have been a part of this to begin with, Seán. He was just a _fucking journalist_!" She gasped down a few more breaths. "I still see her face, Seán. I still see Teddy's expression from when she told me and Scarlett about his death." Her voice croaked upon uttering the final word.

"He agreed," the blond whispered, trying to placate the woman. "He agreed to go, knowing full well of the dangers."

"Did he know?" Sierra asked, though the question seemed to be more for herself than for Seán. "Did he _really_ know what kind of shit we were getting ourselves into?" She didn't wait for an answer. "You were right, Seán. You were right." She began sobbing again, her words becoming hard to distinguish. It was hard for Seán to listen to her like this. "I used them as fucking _pawns_! _Pawns_!" She began to shake. "I've been so consumed with trying to can those fucking bastards, I didn't even give a flying shit about what happened to everyone else!" She shook harder, sounding like she was having trouble breathing.

"Not even my own sister will face me," she squeaked, finally able to take in a breath.

"She left for your parents' home," Seán reminded. "She went to see her children. Sierra, you did what you felt to be right. We all have to make tough choices doing this."

"Then why do they never seem so hard to _me_?" Her voice was more pitiful than it had ever been.

Looking down at her, Seán took in her haunted look and wondered about Teddy. She'd gone back to Denver, but, having seen the look in her eyes, he knew she had no intention of facing her family any time soon. It was all so horrible. Seán worked the background. She hacked into computers, stole information, and sent the information to others. He encrypted computers and created false trails. He stole money using his computer, and he even made passports and IDs if they were needed quickly. His weren't the best, but he got better. He could take anything and ruin anybody without ever leaving the house. He was the brains; Sierra was the muscle. She had to go out and set her own safety and comfort aside to do what needed to be done. It was a job that could take its toll on even the strongest of individuals—and it had.

Bending down, Seán kissed Sierra's forehead. "They are now."

She shook her head. "That's not good enough. Why do I always have to make myself the queen and use everyone else around me? Seán, Teddy hates me, Scarlett's left, Ekon's been sent off to war, and Spencer's _dead_. Not only that, but James…"

"You didn't ask him to do anything."

"Not directly."

"You couldn't have seen this all coming."

"But I knew it was all possible."

"Of course you did. We _all_ did and still do." He was growing irritated with her, but he managed to keep his cool.

Her eyes broke contact with his. Those almond-shaped, turquoise orbs latched on the painting of the tree and candles by the kitchen's entrance instead. "He could have died there, Seán. All of us could have died. But no, only Spencer. The only innocent person in this mess."

"No one is completely innocent."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Sierra growled. Her tears were beginning to come to a stop.

"No," Seán replied, "but, while none of us are white as lily petals, we're not all fire and brimstone either. Sierra, we're all human. I know how you feel. I feel this way _every_ time you leave me." He kept stroking her hair, and her hand finally came up to grasp his hand at her stomach.

They stayed that way in silence for several more minutes, until Sierra could no longer take it. "Why do I always have to use people? Why do I always have to be on top? Why don't I even _care_ about who I step on to get to where I want to go?"

Sitting his wife up so they could meet eye-to-eye, Seán whispered, "I don't know, but in the end, the pawn and queen end up in the same box. Never forget that, Sierra."

**XXX**

It wasn't his grave. She knew it wasn't his grave, but she still could not bear to leave. The headstone read **Fredrick Rice / August 24, 1946 – March 11, 2009 / Beloved husband, father, and grandfather / He will never be forgotten**. The words carved into the granite had long-since been burned into Teddy's memory, but she just kept reading them over and over. She was sitting there before the grave, legs tucked beneath her and chin-length hair blowing in the mid-September wind.

Charlie was already in school, making up explanations and stories for her teachers, classmates, neighbors, and the police. Teddy had watched from a distance wearing her light grey bucket hat the day before as Charlie got onto her bus, and tears had trickled down Teddy's cheeks as she had trudged down the sidewalk back towards the park.

Teddy had not been to her apartment yet. She hadn't been to her parents' house. She hadn't greeted anyone in her family since her arrival. Hair still brown-red, she wandered through certain parts of the city, keeping her backpack close to her. It had become her lifeline ever since New York City, and she had no intention of ever parting with it. She had used it as a pillow when sleeping in the park, her gun within easy reach. She had only been in Denver for a couple of days, but Teddy was desperate to leave once again. She was a wanted woman. It was only a matter of time before investigators found the link from Taylor Jones, to Taylor Smith, to Teddy Duncan. Once that link was made, Denver would be hit by a wave of investigators.

It wasn't safe here.

Yet, she could not bring herself to get away. As the sun had begun to rise that morning, she had headed straight for the nearest cemetery, wandering through the aisles until she found the tombstone of Fredrick Rice. She had never known him, but he shared the same birthday as Spencer. This was the closest Teddy would ever be able to get to his body. She had no way of knowing what those guards had done with the corpse, but she knew it wasn't anything near the respect he deserved. They probably burned him with the rest of their trash. The trash they burn that creates black smoke and gets the workers sick. They wouldn't think twice about putting an intruder in with that. The thought of it made Teddy sick to her stomach, but she didn't care. She needed the pain.

Right arm still in a sling she no longer needed, her backpack made her opposite shoulder feel sore, and she walked with a limp, ankle flaring up with fresh pain now and again. She should have a crutch, but she hadn't wanted it—it was currently abandoned in D.C., where she and the Thompson sisters had gone for several days before the three parted ways. Teddy had been more than happy to leave them and be driven back to Denver. Only, it wasn't really happiness. It had been more of a lessening of hatred. Those dark emotions Teddy used to discard as an adolescent now filled her to the brim, drowning her. She couldn't escape the sorrow, anger, or hatred. The muscles in her face could only figure out how to give a cold and reserved expression, and her eyes had been sucked dry of all warmth.

Sharp pain shot through her ankle with each heavy step. Still, it never matched her mental pain. The emotions were just too much. That gun strapped to her hip had looked like the perfect release last night, but Teddy had cursed and stopped herself before breaking down into another round of sobs. She couldn't take this anymore.

Spencer.

Spencer.

Spencer.

His name kept floating through her head as a menacing voice ravaged through her thoughts.

_You could have saved him._

_You should have kept him from coming along._

_You should have been the one to die instead_.

Punching the ground at the foot of the grave, Teddy let out a loud cry, her light blue backpack falling over. The voice kept coming with insult after insult—false claim after false claim.

Were they false?

They had to be.

Teddy couldn't have saved Spencer.

Or could she have?

Could she have forced him on the back of the motorcycle? Could she have driven both him as well as herself away to safety? Would that have worked? Or would it have led to _both_ of their deaths?

It'd been Scarlett's idea to bring him along. It'd been Sierra's idea to have him help her. Both had a hand in his death, but Teddy mostly blamed the eldest Thompson sister. How could she have let Spencer onto that motorcycle? How come it had been him coming to her instead of Sierra? _Both_ of them had known her location before they left the trailer. _Both_ had known which path she was most likely to take.

They had to have.

It was all Sierra's fault.

_Bitch probably doesn't even care_.

Teddy wasn't completely sure if that was her thought or if it had come from the voice, but she didn't care. Either way, it was right.

"Teddy?"

The twenty-eight-year-old (or was she twenty-nine now? Wasn't her birthday in August? Teddy couldn't recall at the moment) didn't bother to turn around. She had vaguely heard the footsteps, but she wasn't worried about being attacked. The footsteps had been mostly quiet but hadn't held the hesitation of someone trying to sneak up on her. That meant that the person was small and light.

The voice also rang through Teddy's memory, but she only saw a face. She couldn't get a grasp on the name. However, even the face faded, soon replaced by how Spencer's face probably looked as he forced out the word, "Go."

Teeth clenched, Teddy began to cry once again, her good arm going around her waist as she held her other arm close to her chest. Everything hurt. But not enough. Nothing hurt enough. Was this why some people cut themselves? They needed to find physical pain to balance out the emotional? The thought now seemed tempting, but Teddy knew that there was no blade sharp enough, and no cut would ever be deep enough. Even if she had cut off her hand, she doubted that it would match the agony raging through her shattered soul.

"Teddy?" asked the voice. "Is that you?" The feminine (yes, it was a woman, Teddy realized) voice sounded almost unsure. The keeper of the voice was standing behind the grieving woman.

"Yes," she heaved, the word coming out in a rush of air before she gasped more down. The oxygen never seemed to really reach her lungs, and it made Teddy think of the blood filling Spencer's mouth, suffocating him. Screaming out towards the sky, Teddy fell forward, good hand clutching at the grass growing over the grave.

_Spencer! Spencer! Oh, Spencer please! This has to be a dream! THIS HAS TO BE A DREAM! _It sounded like she called his name out loud, but she wasn't sure.

Suddenly, two hands grabbed her by the shoulders, jerking her up and around.

That face was in front of Teddy's eyes now. That face that had briefly showed itself in her memories. Only, her raven hair was down, veiling her shoulders as a few strands blew over her childish face. "Teddy! Listen to me!" There was worry in her voice, but her eyes showed exasperation and stress.

As tears blurred her vision, Teddy mumbled, "He can't listen anymore. I can't listen to him sing. Or play guitar. He can't write articles anymore. He—"

Allison—_that_ was her name, Teddy recalled—shook her by the shoulders. "Teddy, you can't keep doing this to yourself. He's _gone_. This won't bring him back."

Eyes rising to those hazelnut-colored orbs, Teddy found rage replacing the sorrow. Teeth grit, she used the heel of her palm to shove Allison away as she got to her feet, barely feeling the pain spiking through her hurt ankle. "YOU'RE A PART OF THIS!" She glared down at Allison from beneath the brim of her hat. The shorter woman was on her elbows, looking up with a shocked expression. "YOU'RE PART OF IT ALL! HOW LONG? HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN LYING TO ME AND PRETENDING YOU ACTUALLY _GAVE A SHIT_ ABOUT ME?"

Quickly scrambling to her sandal-clad feet, Allison yelled, "I WASN'T PRETENDING!" She swallowed, her own eyes shimmering. "I know how it feels, Teddy."

"Like _hell_ you do," Teddy growled. She grunted as she began to reach down for her backpack. She had to get out of this city. She had to get away from all the lies.

Grabbing her by the wrist, Allison forced her to make eye-contact. "Yeah, I _do_. I didn't find out until after Tilly and I—"

"_Krystle_?" Teddy's eyes bulged. "Who _else_ is a part of this?" She gestured towards the marker, momentarily forgetting that it wasn't Spencer's.

Holding back tears, Allison whispered, "James. He—"

"_JAMES_?" Everyone around her was a liar. Teddy couldn't believe it, and the tears refused to stop now. How could they all be so heartless? How could they all use her like this? They were _all_ at fault, and Sierra was their damned-for-eternity empress.

Choking out the words now, Allison quickly said, "Look, if you're going to yell at him, don't bother. When I found out, I threw a lit candle at his head."

"Bastard deserves worse." She went for her backpack again, but Allison still wouldn't let her go.

"Listen to me!"

"Why?" Teddy shot back. "So you can force-feed me some more lies? I'm _sick_ of it! You all got him _killed_."

Tears began to roll down Allison's flushed cheeks, but Teddy didn't care. "Your mom was involved. Her _and_ Gabe."

This time, Teddy froze. The words struggled through her brain slowly, and she could only gape at the Vietnamese-American looking up at her.

Swallowing, Allison continued, "They've known about Charlie all this time."

"No." Teddy snatched her hand back. "They didn't. Mom was taking anti-depressants!"

"They were sugar pills." She was close to bawling now.

"No more lies!" Teddy shrieked, falling back to the ground. "I can't take it anymore! None of you—"

"We _all_ care about you, Teddy! _None_ of us wanted to use you!"

"Bullshit!" Teddy went to shove Allison away again, but her muscles felt as if they had lost all energy.

The short woman was kneeling now, arms shaking as she gasped through her cries. "It's true! Please, Teddy. Please believe me!"

This wasn't happening. This _couldn't_ be happening. Her _friends_! Her _family_! Teddy couldn't take it anymore, and she managed to find enough strength to pull her gun out on the liar squatting before her. Her arm shook, and her eyes were crazed. Her heart thudded within her chest, threatening to break out. Teddy held no qualms about the people she had shot. What was one more, anyway? This person was not her friend. She never had been. She was part of the reason Spencer was dead, and now she was at Teddy's long-gone mercy. She breathed through her mouth to try and keep herself steady, and she almost felt a corner of her mouth move upwards as Allison began to crawl away, eyes on the barrel of the gun.

"Please…" Her voice was no more than a squeak.

Teddy's finger rubbed against the trigger, and her voice was eerily calm. "A life for a life."

"It won't bring him back." Allison's eyes rose to meet Teddy's. "It won't bring justice."

"Justice is blind." Teddy's hand still shook, and her throat felt like it was squeezing shut. "I'm not. _All _of you had a hand in his death."

"None of us pulled the trigger."

"You might as well have." Teddy's arm began to shake even more. "He was sent to his death trying to save me! There was only ten more feet to go!" The tears came back, and the gun fell from her hand, onto the grass. Allison quickly took it away and out of reach, but Teddy didn't even notice. "Why didn't I die instead? Why him?"

Allison gave the worst answer Teddy could have ever heard: "Because he loved you."

It was true. It had to be true, but Teddy didn't want to hear it. Her last encounter with Spencer before leaving for the motel was him hugging her, telling her that she couldn't keep up the tough act.

_Couldn't or shouldn't?_ Teddy asked herself now. _I know he cared about me. I still cared about him, but…_

Even in her mind, Teddy couldn't admit it. She couldn't admit she'd been too afraid to get close to anyone again. She'd been too afraid to put any of her real feelings out there. She'd been too afraid to _be human_. Teddy was sure if she had seen a human hand on the sidewalk, she would have simply kicked it into the sewer, thinking nothing of it.

The Giltebreks were dehumanizing her.

Silver Wing was dehumanizing her.

_No,_ thought Teddy in a definite tone. _I'm doing it_.

"Don't let him die like this." Allison helped Teddy to her feet as she grabbed the backpack. "He saved your life. Are you going to throw that away?"

Just because she was right, didn't mean Teddy was any less mad. "And what in hell do _you_ suggest I do?"

Eyebrows coming together, Allison's eyes flashed with that earlier mixture of exasperation and stress, along with some anger. Holding out the backpack, she growled, "I 'suggest' you get off your ass and _do_ something."

"I can't go back," Teddy murmured, staring at the backpack.

"Then move forward." Allison put a strap over Teddy's shoulder and began to stalk away. "We're always here for you, Teddy! Even if you don't believe we are!"

Swallowing, Teddy knelt down for her gun, giving one last glance to the lonely headstone. _Goodbye._

_And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting  
><em>_On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;  
><em>_And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,  
><em>_And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;  
><em>_And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor  
><em>_Shall be lifted - nevermore!  
><em>_- "The Raven" (stanza 18) by Edgar Allen Poe_

**_End Part I: Nevermore_**

**_Wait for Part II: Albatross_**


End file.
